


You Deserve It, Baby, You Deserve It All

by marin27



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, All the guys Peter meets are in love with him, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sexual Situations, Eventual Smut, I mean sloooooooow burn, Insecure Tony Stark, Italian Tony, Jealous Tony Stark, M/M, Masturbation, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Peter Parker, Oblivious Tony Stark, Past Sexual Assault, Peter is pretty much crushing hard on Tony, Peter sort of knows what's happening, Pining, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pro-Sokovia Accords, Protective Tony Stark, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony accidentally becomes a Sugar Daddy, Tony spoils Peter, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and when i say slow burn, but he totally denies it, while Tony is head over heels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2020-03-09 16:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18920671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marin27/pseuds/marin27
Summary: Peter knows that Tony has a heart of gold, that he gives and gives and gives because he can. But this is sort of going out of control. Considering it's Tony Stark, 'going out of control' means thousand dollar pieces of designer clothes and a trip to Italy.Peter is out of his element here.~~~Where Tony accidentally becomes Peter's sugar daddy and Peter denies it. Although he does suspect something (and is somehow completely off-mark)This is not your run of the mill Sugar Daddy!Tony fic, it's honestly more of a love story where Tony loves showering Peter in gifts. Then I added plot. Too much plot.Lots of unresolved sexual tension and so many internal conflicts on both sides.





	1. Anything you want (Just to put a smile on you)

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, there won't be a lot of the Sugar relationship elements in here. It's mostly just Tony unknowingly treating Peter like a sugar baby with lavish gifts and a trip. (But with less sex. For now. Sex comes later) 
> 
> Then everyone else around them thinking they actually are in a sugar relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I have to say that this is a long ass plot bunny that never seems to leave me. Currently, I haven't finished the fic yet but it's nearly done.
> 
> And yes I did name the fic and the chapters after 'That's What I Like' which honestly, is basically this fic's theme.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Tony isn’t sure if he’s breathing anymore. He’s pretty sure a part of his soul is already travelling the one way to hell. Because he knows this is wrong. He knows that he shouldn’t be doing this. But Tony—despite the many years of adulting under his belt—can’t seem to fight this.

He can’t fight the urge to let his eyes trail over Peter’s rippling arm muscles, glistening with sweat and exposed to the crisp air that Tony somehow feels like it went up several degrees. Peter doesn’t even notice the nearly hungry look lurking in Tony’s eyes as he turns to fill his Iron Man themed coffee mug. _Jesus Christ._

Tony wipes the expression from his face when Peter turns around, hiding the downturn of his lips behind his own cup. Peter beams, “Hey, Mr Stark! How are you doing?”

_Thinking about pushing you against that counter and leaving hickeys all over you. Nothing much._

“Just fine, kid. Just peachy.”

Maybe it began from the start; maybe it grew over time, infesting his subconscious for years until it finally pops up like a dandelion in winter. Or maybe it’s like a switch was flipped overnight but despite all that, it is quite startling for Tony to realise that he’s looking at his prodigy in an entirely new light; in a way he shouldn’t.

It’s not like Tony is blind, he’s aware that Peter is quite attractive, once he got over the baby cheeks, bouncy teenager stage. Tony doesn’t spend much time thinking about that, obviously, because that would just lead him to a road he knows he’ll never turn back from. It is strange for a middle aged man to think about the aesthetics of a teenager who still hasn’t had his first kiss. That doesn’t stop him from wondering sometimes though, usually after drinking three fingers of scotch. And no, it’s not like he’s been doing it since they met—now that would be a problem in itself.

No, no. It started that faithful day three months ago when Peter called Tony in a flurry of panic.

 

~~~~

 

_“Mr. Stark? I really, really need your help. Can I come over?”_

_Tony doesn’t hesitate to say yes, already letting the worry gnaw him inside out when he hangs up. His anxiety is clawing at his chest when Peter lands on the balcony in a distressed heap, hair dishevelled and eyes wide. He goes over to the older man in a rush, words tumbling out in a hurry._

_“I’m having my first official date like real official date where I pay for everything and I pick her up and we go out for the date and I don’t know what to do I’m scared I’ll mess up and say the wrong thing and—” Tony’s hand slaps over his babbling mouth, his mind still processing what the kid was spewing._

_“Kid, you’re gonna give Eminem a run for his money. I want you to breathe, and start again. Slowly this time, okay?” Peter nods, and Tony drops his hand. The kid takes a deep breath._

_“Okay, so there’s this girl I really like, name’s MJ, and I asked her out—actually technically she asked me out cause she said I was too pussy to.” Tony flinched a little, taken aback by the crude word slipping out of Peter like it was normal._

_“Anyway, tonight’s the date and I need some advice and I didn’t want to ask Aunt May cause she’s a woman and you’re you. So… I thought to ask you instead.” Peter is more calm after saying all that, as if just talking about it lifted a weight off his shoulders._

_Tony just stares at him, his brows slowly going up. He bites his lip, trying to stop the smile from forming. Peter groans, seeing the amusement on the other man’s face, “I know that it sounds stupid but I really need help, Mr Stark!”_

_Tony can’t stop the laugh, but nods. “Sure, kid. Whatever you want.”_

_“We have to start with what you’re wearing. No offence but I don’t think you should be going on dates when you look like you just came from a Goodwill.” He pulls Peter by the shoulder to his bedroom._

_“I don’t have any clothes tailored to your size but I think you can still wear my clothes and still look… adequate. Remind me to bring a tailor in tomorrow for you, cause I think you can do better than second hand hoodies and baggy jeans.” They walk into his bedroom, heading to his closet which is a room on its own. When Tony pushes the door open, Peter can’t help letting out a gasp at the sight of sleek silver walls and shelves that never seem to end, a section for each type of clothing; a wall for blouses and suit jackets in varying shades of blue, grey and black, another wall for shoes on their own._

_Tony moves over to one of the silver walls and slides it to the side, opening up another shelf for casual tees, jeans and a long rack of sneakers that Peter is sure each pair costs more than a month’s worth of rent. He swallows hard, and his brain finally catches up to what Tony said. “U-Uh, tailor?”_

_Tony whirls around to face him, “Yeah.”_

_“I don’t need a tailor, Mr. Stark. I’m completely fine with my science jokes t-shirts and baggy jeans,” Peter says, weakly. Tony squints at him behind his orange tinted aviators, and hums. He waves a hand, “Alright. If you don’t want it, that’s fine with me.”_

_Peter almost grins at how Tony is clearly not fine with turning down his offer, but doesn’t comment on it. Tony flips through the hangers, a thoughtful sound coming out every time he sifts through each tee. Peter just takes his time to look around, wondering how much everything in this room costs in total._

_“Try these on for size, kid. Shouldn’t be too small or big.” Tony tosses him a black cotton Henley shirt with a pair of blue jeans. The second they’re in Peter’s hands, he can already feel the difference between the quality of the fabric compared to his cheap shirts and scratchy jeans. It’s almost like he can smell the money from it. He watches as Tony stares at the wide selection of sneakers, and blanches when he reaches for the Gucci sneakers._

_“Mr. Stark, I don’t think I should—”_

_“You don’t have to worry about dirtying them, Peter. I can just buy new ones.” Peter chokes on his saliva._

_“No, I mean—I don’t think I should go outside in New York wearing thousand dollar sneakers. It might give people the wrong idea.” Tony pulls back and places a hand on his chin._

_“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go for these.” Somehow, the next choice of Tony’s is worse than the last. Peter’s eyes widen comically at the sight of checkered sneakers that would seem like they’d fall off if he even takes a step. He can’t even let words out of his mouth as Tony hands him the shoes. “I know these are a little out of your comfort zone but give ‘em a shot. Maybe you’ll find out that gaudy sneakers are your thing too.”_

_He leaves the room, Peter still standing there frozen with what basically is a goldmine worth of clothes in his hands. When Tony shuts the door behind him, Peter sighs. “Might as well. What’s the worst that could happen.”_

_Peter is… pleasantly surprised._

_The soft cotton shirt almost fits him like a glove. Almost because it’s tight around the shoulders and arms, considering Peter is a little more bulky than Tony due to his super strength._

_The jeans… the jeans are something else. Peter feels like it hugs his every curve, and if he is being honest, it does accentuate his legs and behind in good ways. Now Peter knows how Tony gets those stares, no matter where he goes._

_Peter gets why Tony went for gaudy sneakers, to balance out the simplicity of his outfit; if it weren’t for the sneakers, the outfit would’ve been boring._

_Peter walks out of the closest room, pushing up the sleeves to mid forearm because the ends would reach past his wrists. He does a little spin. “Mr. Stark, this actually looks great!”_

_“Didn’t know you wore shoe lifts, though. Kinda explains how you’re always a little taller than me.”_

_He looks up and is completely taken aback by the distant look in Tony’s eyes, even clear behind the sunglasses. Peter pauses. “Mr. Stark? Is-Is it bad? Should I change back?”_

_Tony doesn’t respond, his eyes flickering over Peter. When Peter left the closet, Tony felt the world stop around him. The second he laid eyes on the kid, his mouth went dry. Tony immediately realises that something new is happening. And he isn’t sure if it’s bad or good._

_His eyes are glued onto the kid’s arms, gaze trailing over how the material seems to deliciously stretch over his muscles. When Peter spun, he found himself staring at the curve of his ass, mind going dizzy. He’s breathless by the time his brain has caught up to the fact Peter—this delectable looking thing—is wearing his clothes. Tony’s clothes. And that unleashes a small primal urge in his head that forces him to shove away to deal with another time._

_Tony swallows hard, and stands up from his seat on the bed. He nods slowly. “Yeah, this is alright, kid. More than alright.”_

_Once again, Peter is beaming at him like he’s the sun, moon and earth combined. And that doesn’t make Tony breathe easier. In fact, it hits him that he has never reacted to Peter like this until now. When Tony looks up, he realises with a shiver of arousal, that Peter has to look down on him now with the added height, making him feel smaller than he is._

_“Thank you, sir!”_

 

_Fuck. He’s in trouble._

 

_“No problem at all, kid.”_

 

_~~~~_

  
And that brings us to this moment, where Tony is internally hyperventilating at how Peter is exuding sex appeal without even trying. He bites his lip hard as he tries to ignore the fact that Peter is eating a banana right before his very eyes. If Tony didn’t know Peter—the innocent kid that he is—he would’ve thought it is entirely on purpose.

When Peter wraps his lips around the banana, biting into it slowly as he scrolls through his phone, Tony has to clench his fists until his fingernail leaves indents on his palms. Tony swallow hard again at sight of Peter’s pink tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip. And Tony loses it.

Tony stands up abruptly, his hands shaking as he quickly takes off. “I’ll see you later, kid. Stop by the lab, would you?”

He doesn’t turn around to see Peter’s confused face.

* * *

 

With a hiss, the door to the lab opens and Tony can hear the soft footfalls of Peter coming up behind him. He doesn’t turn around, his eyes focusing on the small intricate circuitry of his nanotech suit, his deft fingers twisting the small screw driver in his hand. “Hey, Pete.”

“Hi, Mr. Stark. Is it the nanotech suit again?” Tony can hear the sound of something ceramic being placed on the table and he doesn’t have to look up to see that Peter brought him lunch. He hums, his wrist rotating to adjust the settings of the micro circuitry. For the next few moments, all he can hear is breathing from Peter and for some reason, the kid leans in to watch what Tony is doing. Peter looks closely from over Tony’s shoulder, his soft breaths fanning over Tony’s neck and he has to pretend that it doesn’t send tingles down his spine every time.

Luckily for Tony, he doesn’t have much to finish up on and only a few seconds later, he sits back up, dropping the screwdriver from his hands. He doesn’t mention the small squeak of surprise from Peter because of Tony’s sudden movement, just says, “Is that for me?” and points to the two grilled cheese sandwiches on the plate Peter put down.

Peter sits down next to him and nods. He teeters in his stool, leaning over to push the plate towards Tony. “Just for you. I asked Friday and she said you hadn’t eaten anything ever since this morning.”

“So? I just had breakfast,” Tony says, already biting into the greasy sandwich and the genius realises he’s hungrier than he thought. Peter pulls a face. “It’s four. In the afternoon.”

“Oh.” Tony just continues eating, watching as Peter tells Friday to bring up the Iron Spider suit schematics, his pale skin having a blue glow as the holograms come up in front of his eyes. Tony stares at Peter, at the way the kid mumbles to himself when he’s thinking hard, the way he doesn’t seem to care when his hair sweeps over his beautiful eyes, the way Peter even cares about him enough to make food for him; and he curses the world because his heart is beating faster than normal again, because he knows that _feelings_ are now involved.

Which is a very dangerous situation that Tony needs to know how to tread cautiously. Otherwise, it’s going to be a shit show without a way to fix it.

Tony frowns when he notices it’s the fifth time Peter’s fringe comes down to cover his eyes. He puts down the plate.

“Kid, I think you need a haircut.”

“Huh?” Befuddlement clouds his eyes when he turns to the older man, as if he can’t believe his ears. Tony’s lips twitch when he catches sight of Peter looking up at him through his fringe, sparkling brown eyes peering at him. He reaches out—which he knows he shouldn’t do—and pushes his hair away to the side—which is another thing he _shouldn’t_ do—with gentle fingers. Peter’s cheeks flush, and Tony reasons it’s because he’s just weirded out and maybe even embarrassed. And he knows he should stop and pull back, but he feels trapped under Peter’s gaze.

“I think you need a new haircut,” Tony repeats, a little softer as he looks at Peter. The teenager takes a moment, the confusion still not completely gone, but nods anyway. “Okay. Since you’re offering. May forgot to bring me to the barber a week ago and I didn’t want to ask for money that’s why I’m growing it out. I didn’t want to risk cutting it myself. That’s a mistake I’m not repeating.”

Tony blinks, surprised at Peter’s approval—because the kid almost always turns down even the smallest of favours—but also at what he said. “That’s a story you’re definitely going to have to tell me later. We’re going tonight.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the start! I think the most chapters this fic will have is about 5 or 6, at around 2000 words per chapter. I'll be posting maybe every other day or every other two days. 
> 
> Comment what you think!!!! I love all kinds of feedback so please do say something!!!! ❤️❤️ Thanks


	2. Take my wallet if you want it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is kind of confused by all the gifts, and really tries to push away the guilt that come along with it. Of course, Tony doesn't make it easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of a mess??? Cause i honestly don't know how to make different scenes flow well buuut?? Enjoy it anyway I guess😊

When Tony said they were going for a haircut, Peter expected a barber just a few blocks away with a red and white pole outside, not a high end salon with high tech hair tools and hair products more expensive than his phone. There were a group of hair stylists already waiting for their arrival. At the sight of them, they ushered the them both into plush leather seats—nothing like the rickety chairs at the barbershop that’s probably over thirty years old—and threw a cloth over Peter’s body.

He can see Tony in the reflection of his mirror, also getting a haircut. Tony threw him a wink when he was caught staring, and he hopes he's far enough from Tony that the pink of his cheeks is unnoticeable.

They gave him a cut and a wash, putting more hair products into his locks than he’d ever done in his life. Once done, he’s—not surprisingly—pleased by the cut. He runs his hands through his hair and finds himself feeling amazed at how soft and shiny it is, never had this much care put into his hair before. He tugs on his hair, a grin coming on his face as he plays with the ends. “Mr. Stark! My hair is incredibly soft, this is amazing!”

He doesn’t see the way Tony freezes at the sight of Peter pulling on his hair. Doesn’t see the way he bites his lip as he imagines if it were his own hands tugging at those silky locks instead. He doesn't see the flicker in his expression when a wave of shame and guilt washes over him. All Peter sees is the smirk forming on Tony’s face as he hands over his card at the counter, not once taking his eyes off of Peter.

 

* * *

 

  
It's a weekday, and—as usual—Peter is visiting the tower and— _as usual—_ Tony is still keeping the charade of pretending he doesn't want to bend Peter over a desk and fuck him till Sunday but at the same time cradle Peter close to his chest and cuddle with him as they watch a movie and talk about their future.

God, Tony still feels like a mess. What's new? 

Peter comes to the tower more down than usual. He isn’t his normal, bubbly self whose eyes brighten at the mention of playing in the lab, who grins whenever Tony calls him kid. Today, he’s more sullen, mouth quiet and eyes downcast. Tony would ask what’s wrong, but he doesn’t want to pry in case it would worsen Peter’s mood.

Eventually, something does crack in Peter. And it happens in the lab, when Peter and Tony are standing next to each other, studying the mechanics of Peter’s suit.

He mumbles softly at first, as if not sure if he wants to say it out loud. Tony only waits.

“Mr. Stark?”

“What’s up, kid?” Tony winces at how fast he responded. Sue him if he feels a little worried for the kid. Peter doesn’t seem to care or notice, though.

“Do I… Are my clothes really that bad? Like do they really make me look… I don’t know… I guess poor? Or at least financially struggling?” That question confused Tony so much he had to take several moments to process what _really_ came from Peter’s mouth. Peter watches Tony blink slowly, like a cat, and the kid can almost laugh as his face twists into a grimace.

“ _How—Wha—Why_ would you even think of that, Peter?” Tony places a hand on his shoulder, because he just can’t handle another second without touching him. He feels Peter’s shoulder shrug until his hand. “I don’t know. You said something a couple months ago. About my clothes.”

Now, Tony’s brows furrow in worry. He feels a knot forming in his chest when he realises with a sinking feeling he might have made Peter insecure because of a comment he didn’t mean. “Is it because of what I said? I’m sorry, it was just a joke. I didn’t think it’d—”

Peter’s own brows tighten when he realises where Tony is getting at. “No, no, no. It’s not you, sir. Not you at all.”

That releases the knot in his chest, a small bit of relief washing over him. But he knows that Peter is still upset, and he’s determined to find out why. “You're still upset. So, if it’s not me, which in itself is incredibly shocking, then who?”

The kid now looks down to his feet, pursing his lips. Tony’s hackles rise, the worry coming back fast and it takes every willpower in him to keep his mouth shut and wait for Peter to speak.

“Some kid in my class—”

“Some kid? What did he do? He’s the reason why you’re upset? Should I call the school? His parents? I swear to god—”

“ _No_! Mr. Stark, it’s alright!” Peter almost looks frazzled but he’s more astounded at Tony’s reaction. And the man realises he might have overreacted when he takes another look at Peter’s nearly awed look. He gulps.

“Then?” he pushes out, hoping to get past what he just said, because he doesn't want that same awed look to stay directed at him. Peter is shaken out of his stupor.

“Uh. He just said some stupid things about the stuff I wear. It doesn’t matter, though.” Tony can feel something unfurl in his chest, like a burning rod going between his lungs. He has the compelling urge to suit up and fly over to whoever this kid is—who has the audacity to speak to Peter like this—and threaten him until he pees himself. Because no one gets to make Peter feel anything else than the amazing person he is.

 

_No one._

 

Tony has to take a breath before responding, otherwise he’d blow up. He has to remain cool, and collected. Like a cucumber, right? “Like hell it doesn’t matter.”

 

_Whoops._

 

The same awed look makes it to Peter’s face. Where he looks at Tony like he’s brought the moon for Peter (which Tony would do if the kid did request for it, no questions asked) and Tony has to avert his gaze for a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Let’s get that tailor.” Tony’s tone is decisive, not expecting an objection. Peter’s mouth start to open, and Tony cuts in, “Kid, I don’t like the way this moron is talking to you. I wanna make this brat shut his trap for a while, alright?”

Peter blinks.

“I won’t get you anything crazy, if makes your guilty conscious better.” Tony’s hand somehow is on Peter’s shoulder again, his fingers curling firmly into the muscle to ground both of them.

He almost snorts at his own words. If anyone out of the two of them has a guilty conscious, Tony would bet all his money that it's him.

Peter’s eyes shut, and nods. Tony doesn’t move for a couple moments as his thumb rubs circles into his collarbone. Tony swears he can feel the rumbling of Peter’s vocal cords through the touch but it’s so soft he can’t even tell.

They book a tailor to come in that day, and within a few hours, Peter finds himself getting marked with a strip of measuring tape by a short man who hums thoughtfully every time Tony gives him tips on how Peter likes to dress.

Every time Tony would hold up a shirt in a different shade on him, all he can do is grin gratefully at the man who is paying for all of this, his face burning as Tony's eyes run over him. 

At this point, Tony is used to the gratitude that Peter likes to dish out for every little thing he does; what he’s not used to is the thoughtful expression on the teenager’s face when Tony would wave off his thanks. Tony thinks he should probably start worrying about the change, but he doesn’t let it get to him too soon. Better to deal with it when the problem presents itself rather than worrying over something that might turn out to be nothing. Especially in this complicated case of having a  _crush on a goddamn teenager._

In the next couple of days, Peter finds himself to be the recipient of many boxes of designer clothes, every piece tailored to his measurements. Aunt May practically interrogated him when all of the packages came in, with Peter answering with a weak 'Mr. Stark got them for me'. At least she was shocked enough to quieten down a little when Peter found a pair of Louboutin kitten heels at the bottom of second tower of boxes, with a note that says it's for May.

Every t-shirt he tried was made from suede cotton, denim jeans cut to accentuate his legs, cashmere sweaters so soft it feels like they melt on his hands, and footwear such as Gucci sneakers and a pair of black dress shoes—when Peter looked them up online—that cost as much as a semester’s tuition fee in college. Tony even threw in belts, two watches—both from Rolex, and despite the reassurances from Tony that they are at the bottom of the list in terms of price tags, each still costs at least six thousand—and a couple of simple 14K thin gold chains. He even received some graphic tees, but only the best graphic tees money can buy.

Peter feels… overwhelmed at the least. Although, the look on Flash’s face when he arrives to school in high quality clothing from head to toe, makes all the stress from the fact it’s all from Tony worth it.

 

 

* * *

 

Peter lets out a sigh, gathering his textbooks together as he sends off a text to Ned, saying he’s coming soon. Tony spins in his chair, a pen between his teeth. He tilts his head, watching Peter sling his bag over his shoulder with another heavy sigh. Peter almost looks tired, and maybe even a touch sad.

“So, kid. Got any plans tonight?” Tony’s tone is nonchalant, taking out the pen between his lips and twisting it between his fingers. Peter shrugs, “Ned and I are gonna spend the entire night online looking at Lego sets that we can’t afford and rewatch Empire Strikes Back.”

Tony’s brows go up. He throws a hand to the door and spins around back to his table, “Well, you’re welcome to leave but remember to pick up your suit first thing after school tomorrow, capisce?”

“Yup, got it, Mr. Stark. And don’t stay up too late, I’ve seen way too many coffee mugs around today,” Peter says and Tony looks over his shoulder to see the kid leave the lab.

He stares at the retreating back until he’s out of sight, then turns back to his table. “Friday, bring up the Lego website.”

 

~~~~

 

The day after, when Peter jumps into his room after hours of patrol, he throws his bag onto his chair and yells into the house, “May, I’m home!”

“Get changed out of your suit! We’ll get Mexican tonight,” is her resounding reply from the living room. He shuts the door and was about to take off his suit to change but nearly face plants to the ground when his foot gets stuck on something big and heavy. He stares down at the cardboard box, his voice in his throat. It doesn’t even take Peter ten seconds to get his phone out and press on Tony's contact. 

“Oh my god, Mr. Stark, this is amazing! I can’t believe you got this for me, oh god, this is like eight hundred bucks! Thank you, this is the greatest day ever!”

Tony’s laughter rings over the phone and Peter just keeps gaping at the black box, a Lego version of the familiar space ship printed on the front. “I can’t believe you got me the Millennium Falcon! It’s like seven thousand pieces! Thank you so much, Mr. Stark!”

He can hear the smile in Tony’s voice, “No, problem, Mr. Parker.”

Peter can’t stop beaming when he sends a picture of the unopened box to Ned with the caption ‘Come over tmr?’ and even when he races outside—not even out of his Spider-Man suit yet—to show it to May.

He can't even bring himself to feel embarrassed when May ruffles his hair with a laugh. 

 

* * *

 

 

When Peter jumps into the alleyway, he lets out a groan of frustration in the middle of catching Tony up with his patrol, telling him the story of how he saved a bunch of puppies trapped under the grates of the sewers.

“Aw, come on! It’s the seventh time!” Tony’s brows raise at the temperamental tone in Peter’s voice. “Huh. What’s up, kid? Somethin’ wrong?”

A scoff rings out from the phone speaker, “Yeah. My backpack’s gone. Again.”

Tony picks up a wrench and gets to work on his car. “Does that happen often?”

Peter curses under his breath, and he sounds like he’s swinging in the air again, presumably to head home. “Yeah. It’s happened way too many times and May’s getting pissed I keep asking her to buy a new one for me.”

Tony lets out a thoughtful sound. “I’ll buy you a new one. Actually, I’ll buy you several and I’ll put GPS trackers in them so this doesn’t happen again. You need new stationery too?”

Peter doesn’t respond, but he can still hear the soft grunts from exertion from swinging so Tony knows he’s still on the line. After a few more moments of silence, Tony’s head comes back up. “Kid?”

“Uh—yeah. I need, uh, stationery. Um, sure, Mr. Stark. That’d be great.” There’s a slight breathiness to his voice. Tony’s brows burrow, his eyes unfocused on the piece of machinery in front of him. “Is there somethin wrong?”

Peter’s chuckle chimes out, and Tony has to suppress a shiver. “No, nothing at all, sir. You have a good night alright? Bye.”

“See you around, kid.”

 

* * *

 

  
Peter is tapping his pen incessantly on his textbook, the hair on his neck standing up as he hears every little noise in the household. Every creak, every movement of the curtains, how the pipes sound like explosions when water rushes through them. Peter’s face pinches.

He doesn’t usually have to deal with the overload of his hearing senses as he usually does work in the tower; where the lab is so well-insulated, the silence does wonders for his focus. So the fact that Tony is away on a trip, and he’s not allowed in the lab alone (after that one incident of his curiosity in wearing the Iron Man armour with his Spider-Man suit) makes focusing at home extremely difficult.

He picks up his phone, fingers itching to do something. He taps on Tony’s contact and starts typing out a text.

 

**Why do you think the government always pushed for containment of supers?**

 

He drops his phone, but its not even a few moments later when his phone dings.

 

_Cause government officials don’t see them as humans._

 

_Mr. Stark😎 is typing..._

 

_Don’t you have like, four essays due tomorrow?_

 

**Yes.**

 

_So why are you texting me?_

**I can’t focus.**

 

_Sensory overload?_

 

**_Yup. It’s too noisy and I don’t want to use the mask._ **

 

Tony doesn’t respond for a moment. Peter’s fingers hover over the keyboard, and a urge comes upon him. But before he can type out the sentence already formed in his head, his phone starts ringing and the picture of him and Tony holding a frame of Peter’s official ‘Internship’ certificate comes up on his screen.

 

_Mr. Stark😎 is calling._

 

He picks up.

“I’m going to be honest and say that I’m glad I get to pretend you called because that meeting was killing me.” Peter laughs, leaning back in his chair as he lets the familiar voice wash over him. Focusing on a single sound helps his other senses to dull, even if it's a little bit. And Tony knows that too, which is likely the reason why he called instead of continuing to text. 

“I mean, I’m not sure what you do during meetings but isn’t it important to listen?” Peter inquires, voice teetering the edge of insecurity; of being sure that Tony would rather talk to anyone else but a teenager. He can practically hear the smile in Tony’s voice when he says, “Not when I’m talking to you. Besides, it’s probably the same boring stuff anyway.”

Peter bites his lips to keep in his delight. "I'm sure Pepper loves that."

A soft chuckle, "Oh yeah, with that near murderous glint in her eye, I'm sure she's absolutely ecstatic I'm in this deathly-boring meeting. I swear, kid, it's like my brain was melting." Peter can hear rustling on the other side, and a beep of what presumably is a door. 

"Well, it's fair. Your brain does need some stimulation. Like, a lot. Like, too much stimulation. I mean, it's usually easier for toddlers to get their entertainment 'cause they're not in a stocks meeting." Peter leans in his chair, feet kicked up on his desk. His lips are in a teasing smile; and his joking tone can be heard over the phone. 

A pause on the other side. "Mr. Parker, am I hearing what I think I'm hearing?" 

Peter grins wider. "About the fact that there's a chance you're mentally a four year old? Mr. Stark, how dare you? I only have the utmost respect for the almighty Tony Stark, who says he dies at meetings." Although Tony can't see him, Peter dramatically places a hand on his chest as though offended. 

"Har-har. As if I haven't heard that joke before." Tony snorts, and Peter can imagine him rolling his eyes.

"Sir, I once saw you drop the welding electric arc and stared at it for two minutes straight, looking like you dropped your ice cream. I was scared you suddenly turned into a wax figure or something." Tony gives out a high-pitched giggle, definitely remembering that late night (or early morning. Depends on the perspective) and Peter blinks. He decides right then and there he likes that particular laugh of Tony's. 

"Hey, I was running on caffeine pills and it was after three days of no sleep," Tony explains, and Peter just hums unconvincingly. They laugh lightly, and it leads to comfortable silence. 

Peter furrows his brows. He had something to say earlier. With a prodding question in the back of his head, he thinks over the words he wants to say. He breaks the silence with a stutter. “Mr. Stark. I was wondering if I could…”

He pauses, as if afraid to test the waters. It’s a question plaguing him for a while and Peter has to conduct an experiment to see if his hypothesis is correct. Because if Tony says yes, if Tony complies, then it answers Peter’s question that he’s had ever since he got him a freaking tailor for clothes three weeks ago.

“I was wondering if you could buy me a pair of headphones.”

A beat—that has Peter stop breathing—then a heavy breath rattles through the phone call. Peter blinks, his his skin tingling lightly. “Yeah? Headphones? What kind? I’ll get you anything.”

Peter can’t help the way his heart speeds up as a revelation dawns on him. He’s not sure if it is one sided, but Peter can feel intensity of the conversation increase. He stutters, “Uh those big ones what cover my ears. So I can focus. That is, if you want to buy it—”

“No, no, kid. It’d be my pleasure.”

Another beat, heavy with tension. The silence unrolling like a long string, a cord so thick with tenseness as Peter awaits Tony’s words.

 

“If you want anything else, just ask, alright? I’ll get you _anything_.”

 

Peter's throat constricts, the head of his cock twitching at attention as the huskiness of the older man’s voice. _Holy crap_ _, that's new._

 

“Yes, Mr. Stark. I will.”

 

Peter finds a pair of Bose noise-cancelling headphones waiting on his bed, fully packaged with a note that says ‘Use it to all your heart’s content. – TS’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But like... I'm crying thooo??? I gotta say I love all of your comments from the last chapter!!! I'm so glad so many of you are excited for this fic❤️❤️


	3. I'm talking trips to Puerto Rico, say the word and we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's summer is starting and he's in for a treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THE PLOT ACTUALLY STARTS HERE! I just put up the second chapter but I was too wound up and excited that I felt bad for not giving you any actual plot yet. And yes, there will be an actual plot. (surprise, surprise)
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s already hitting the school break, and Peter can’t even wait for the summer to start. Peter is excited to get more time to spend with Tony, without school in the way. After that phone call, things got a touch more… _allusive_. 

Sure, the friendliness is still there; the comradery and fond smiles whenever they call each other by their nicknames. They still hang out normally, having lunch and working on projects together at the tower. But…

Something changed.

And Peter is sure he’s not going crazy. He may have seen wizards, aliens and incredible hulks but he is almost certain there is something different about their relationship.

He can tell the difference. In the way they talk about certain topics—usually about Peter being too shy to ask for something—also in the way they catch each others eye. After the call, he can tell that the glances are now always a second too long, or has something keen to longing within both their gazes that they aren’t afraid to hide anymore. It’s in the way that whenever they touch, a tingle goes through Peter’s body, sending all kinds of confusing signals in his brain.

Sure, Peter’s not blind. He knows Tony Stark is incredibly attractive—he didn’t gain that playboy rep for nothing—and their relationship is something he treasures very close to his heart. And Peter is smart. He’s figured out the whole messy situation called ‘feelings’ already. When they first met, all Peter had for the superhero was basic hero/idol worship—nothing more, nothing less. However, the more their relationship went deeper, the more he got to know the man behind the golden faceplate; cracking past the Happy Hogan barrier because after the ‘Vulture’ incident, Tony didn’t want Peter to feel like he’s not taken seriously anymore and get into trouble. It’s between the lines, the conversations and hours they spent together that Peter finds out he’s harbouring feelings for the much older man. (It’s a huge sigh of relief when he remembers he’s over seventeen when he found out. Don’t quote him on that)

It’s a tricky situation, Peter has to admit. After all, it was around the time Peter was still figuring out his sexuality, still having infatuation for his spunky Decathlon teammate but also still evaluating his very, very strong desire for his mentor—both physically and emotionally. So Peter needed some time to sort his feelings out. Eventually, after a date with MJ—which turned out to be a blast and more of a discussion which includes their rather dramatic moping of the same sex (not including how MJ practically laughed herself to the bone after making him confess his crush on Mr. Stark)—Peter has concluded that there is a slight chance he is bisexual, but he is confirmed 100% gay for Anthony Edward Stark. (If you asked him, he’d say who wouldn’t be?)

Peter usually would discount Tony’s gifts as his nearly overbearing trait of generosity, but the past two months has shown that Tony can even outdo himself—and Peter is unsure if it's in a good or bad way. It’s getting kind of ridiculous. Every time Peter spoke about needing something—even the smallest mention—it’d show up in his room the next day with a note in Tony’s handwriting. Peter can say it’s driving him crazy, but he does love all of the gifts he gets, even the lip balm he received after saying his lips sometimes dry out from swinging through the air. The ‘driving him crazy’ part comes in when he finds out the lip balm costs over thirty dollars. Peter wonders who in the entire world needs a thirty dollar lip balm. (That is until he tries it himself and then wonders how he ever lived without it. _It makes his lips soooo soft._ )

 

* * *

 

 

It was supposed to be a normal day. It was supposed to be the usual; Peter jumping into the tower after patrol, work with Mr. Stark or do homework, then have takeout dinner. However, that isn’t how it goes.

First thing that is completely off on his normal agenda, he gets a call from Happy. He hasn’t heard from the guy in about a month, last time running into him at the lobby of the tower. The man didn’t seem that ecstatic to see the kid around, but he did treat him with less bitterness than usual. Peter considers it progress.

When Peter picked up, the first thing that came over the line was, “Pack your bags. Tony needs you somewhere.”

Although the tone was far from urgent, Peter still let the worry rise in him. He hangs up and eventually finds how sore his wrists could be from swinging too fast through narrow alleyways. He stumbles into his room and pulls out his beat up suitcase (the first time seeing it since he was dragged to Germany).

Since he keeps all of Tony’s gifts in a somewhat different compartment than his usual attire, Peter ends up packing nearly all of his second hand clothing pieces; only one of them being a gift from Tony—which is Peter’s favourite sweater (which has Tony’s signature sewn at the bottom hem. His mentor designed it to be ultra-soft for him, when he found out that even cashmere sweaters can feel like it’s rubbed raw against his oversensitive skin during bad sensory overloads).

He doesn’t even take off his suit, just layers over a shirt and jeans and tells May that Mr. Stark needs him somewhere for an emergency. May had this knowing look on her face, a secret smirk on her lips as she waves him off, just kissing his cheek and telling him to have fun. That’s another thing that tipped Peter off. He leaves with more than a perplexed on his face, millions of questions flitting by his brain.

He thought Aunt May would immediately deny him going on another one of Tony’s random escapades.

He sees the familiar black Audi parked in the front of his house, and he jumps in. He’s not surprised to see Happy waiting in the car, opening with an introduction filled with the usual bite. At that, Peter lets out a small sigh of relief. Okay, so the emergency is not so urgent that Happy doesn’t have to change his tone of impatience.

Peter’s face of bafflement doesn’t change when they stop in front of Tony’s familiar private plane, all white and sleek lines. He climbs aboard with his suitcase in hand, and he realises that Happy isn’t following him onto the plane. He shrugs it off, idly thinking he’ll just trail after him later.

Peter nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Tony’s voice echo from the other side of the cabin. He turns to see the man, all lax and epitome of coolness in his graphic tee and blazer as he sips from a tumbler of scotch, feet kicked up the table as he leans back in his leather seat. Peter wonders if Tony can get any hotter than this. He looks Peter over his aviators, his eyes doing a once over. And Peter tries to fight his self-consciousness in his brain.

Tony clicks his tongue, a hint of something in his voice (hurt? Kind of sounds like it is) as he says, “Parker, you aren’t wearing the clothes I bought you.”

Peter realises it’s a statement, not a question and he has to fight the urge to say sorry. He shrugs, trying to aim for nonchalance as he shuffles on his feet, “I didn’t have enough time to pack, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s lips quirk to one side, and he waves a hand. “That’s alright, we’ll just buy you more clothes there.”

“There? There where?”

Tony’s brows go up, “Happy didn’t tell you?”

The older man huffs when Peter shakes his head, “We’re going to Italy, kid.”

Peter feels like the ground is pulled out from under him, “Wh-What? Italy? Why would I go to _Italy_?”

Tony looks at him again over his glasses with his brows going even higher, almost with a sassy air around him. “You said you had nothing big planned over the summer _and_ —”

Tony speaks in a louder voice when Peter opens his mouth like he’s going to argue. “—you said Germany is the only time you’ve ever gone out of New York. I think we need to remedy that, kid.”

Peter stumbles forward to grip the leather seat across from Tony, his hands going clammy. He feels the air getting tighter around him, and they haven’t even taken off yet. “So, uh—how long did you say we'll be in Italy?”

“Only a week, so you’ll still have plenty of time to hang out with your friends once we get back.”

Peter is really trying not to be dramatic... But, Peter swears the whole world around him crashes and burns.

 

_Oh great._

 

_A week with Tony._

 

_Only the two of us._

 

_All alone._

 

_When I’m pent up with sexual frustration._

 

_What could go wrong?_

 

Peter fixes what he hopes is a grateful smile on his face. 

 

_Absolutely everything._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but I really wanted to throw you guys a bone and give you some insight onto Peter's inner thoughts.


	4. Talk to me, tell me what's on your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive in Milan and they have dinner. They have a somewhat soul-bearing chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I did not fucking expect to write this much, I swear!!!! I doubt I'll write this much for another chapter so don't hold your breath. But this was kind of rushed and I didn't get to write the amount of emotion I wanted into the dialogue and actions. So, sorry if they feel a little unnatural.
> 
> Enjoy anyway!!!

 

“I don’t need a suit!”

“Trust me, kid. You will. Probably not right now, but I’m sure there’s some flashy event for school where you can wear it.”

“Mr. Stark, I can assure you, I don’t need a bespoke suit that’s worth five thousand dollars. I have my own suits. Well, technically they’re not mine—”

“Your uncle’s? Dad’s?”

“Yup.”

“And I’m guessing the pants drag across the floor.”

“I mean they are a little long and kind of annoying—but that _does not_ mean you have to buy an overpriced suit for me. I doubt there’s any event worth that amount.”

“And I never thought I’d be taking a sixteen year old kid on a trip to Europe that does not count as a mission. And here we are.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“You are? Wow, it’s been that long?” Tony leans back into his leather chair, contemplation in his eyes. Peter shrugs, a line of tension in his shoulders. The older man glances into his eyes and Tony’s brown eyes flicker from Peter to the table, a rueful smile gracing his lips.

Peter taps the armrest, which is probably the smoothest material he’s ever felt. He takes a long look at Tony. His thoughts are fuelled by the way sunlight bleeds into Tony’s brown eyes, seeming to melt into golden rays that make Peter convinced they’re the most beautiful eyes he’s seen. ‘ _God, I want to take care of you._ ’ His brow twitches when he realises how sappy the thought is and pushes it away into the darkest depths of his mind. He’d rather die than let anyone even have a peek of his thoughts about his deep, albeit inappropriate, crush on his mentor. Peter reckons he has some issues to work through.

 _Daddy issues_. That’s what MJ said, with a teasing smile that doesn’t soften the contrite glint in her eyes.

Peter tries not to worry about the sadness in Tony’s features. “What’s wrong?”

Tony stares at him, a blank look on his features and for some odd reason, Peter can feel his heart sinking.

“Nothing that you should worry about. This vacation is for you, kid. If anything, you should worry about the fact you didn’t pack sunscreen.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything about how clearly Tony is deflecting his worry. At least the tension that was building goes away like dust. “The last time you dragged me off to Europe, we were supposed to fight Captain America. Remind me how that past experience would make me want to pack sunscreen for the second trip.”

Tony clicks his tongue, a quirk of a smirk on his pink lips ( ~~that Peter _totally_ doesn’t want to kiss at al~~l.) “Touché.”

Peter exhales, settling back into his leather seat. He cranes his neck to look around the cabin and with a small frown, he asks, “Is… Is this like the pilot less plane from last time?”

Tony flips open his tablet and taps on his unfinished documents. He hums in answer, “Yup. If it’s a bother to you that we don’t have air stewards, then I can probably bring up some Iron Man suits and ask Friday to play house keeper. Wonder if she’ll do a pole dance if we ask.”

The last part is mumbled, and Peter turns back to Tony. The man has an almost reminiscent smile on his face and Peter frowns even more. Peter slumps back into his seat with a soft ‘oomph’ and Tony glances up from his documents. Peter curses when the familiar sheepish flush crawl up his neck at the sight of the ‘sassy Tony’ look. “Do we at least have food on the plane?”

Peter can feel the tell-tale signs of his super metabolism getting the better of him. God, he hopes the plane ride isn’t too long.

Tony points to the fancy mahogany bar in the corner. “Mini fridge. Should have a couple of energy bars and snacks in there, and some juice. I knew your crazy stomach wouldn’t last the ride so I took the liberty of getting you something before we took off.”

Peter turns to the bar then back to Tony. Back to the bar, and back to Tony, who has his tired eyes focused on his own screen. Peter walks over and opens the fridge. He can’t help the spark of pleasant shock in his stomach and the grin from forming when he realises the ‘snacks’ Tony bought are his favourite. Tony sees the smile on Peter’s pale face from the corner of his eye and tries to ignore it for a moment, pretending to be staring at his tablet.

Peter takes out the M&M pretzels and a box of apple juice from the shelf and settles back into his chair. Peter doesn’t quite know how to react other than feel touched that Tony remembers. Yeah sure, it might just be his snacks but it’s the fact his mentor actually listens to him and puts effort into things that Peter will appreciate. And Peter can’t help his heart beating a little faster at the thought of that.

Tony takes a gander at the snacks and smirks, “I’m guessing there weren’t any baby carrots in there? Or a cup of yoghurt?”

Peter rolls his eyes, opening up his bag of chocolate coated pretzels. “Ha-ha, wow I am so very amused.”

Tony suppresses a grin, tapping his screen a few times as he replies to his emails. By the look on Tony’s face, Peter knows that Pepper is asking Tony for something he likely doesn’t want to do. He has the same pinched look in brows yet fondness glowing in his eyes. And not for the first time, Peter feels the caress of jealousy in his chest.

“So did you buy the snacks yourself or did you get Happy to do it?”

“Uh,” Tony draws out, “I stopped by the gas station on the way to the airport. Absolutely disgusting place.”

“The one on 150th Avenue? Yeah, that place sucks. Pretty sure the place hasn’t been cleaned since the sixties.”

“But hey, you’re the one eating the food from there.”

“I have a healing factor, Mr. Stark. If you take a bite out of anything there, I’m pretty sure you’d drop like a dead fly.”

“See, that’s what I think teenage angst is like. Absolutely no respect for your elders.” Tony meets his eyes with mirth.

“Nah, I don’t think you’re old enough to be considered an elder, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Although, I do think you deserve the teenage angst. I hear it’s good for the parental instincts. Make you regret ever feeling them.”

Tony’s eyes dim, and he looks back at his tablet. Peter doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he definitely said something that set Tony off. The older man doesn’t seem to want Peter to know that, though, and he just takes a sip out of his scotch. Peter winces internally.

“I’m glad to know that you consider me as a father figure, Mr. Parker,” Tony says with a wink, “I feel honoured.”

Peter wrinkles his nose at that, throwing a pretzel into his gaping mouth. “Dude, if you really think I see you as a father figure, then I feel like we’ve been talking to two completely different people.”

The rim of the glass stops before his mouth, his brow arched. “I don’t see you as my dad or my Uncle Ben… I just… I just see you as Mr. Stark. Or Tony. My friend, I guess. If that’s not weird to you.”

Tony smiles, no teeth, throwing his head back to let the liquor slide down his tight throat. “Kid, I’ve seen gods and aliens. I doubt it can be weirder than that.”

At that, Peter beams, glad to have his point across. Despite the fact Peter knows for sure he has no chance in getting romantically involved with Tony, he just wants the man to know he doesn’t see him as father figure. Otherwise—in his head—it puts another layer of weird to this already very peculiar scenario he finds himself in. It’s odd—and wrong—enough for Peter to find himself attached to this genius, and having a father-son bond would twist it even more. And with that in his head—and with a confused heart—he finds himself wanting Tony even more. To know that its wrong, that it’s out there, Tony seems more… precious in a way. Peter doesn’t have the time in his schedule to unpack all of that yet.

Which is maybe why it’s taking so long for him to get over Tony.

 

* * *

 

  
They land at the airport a couple of hours later, Peter bleary-eyed from his nap. The sky is already dark and starry, the moon shining over the both of them. Tony leads—with a suitcase twice as big as Peter’s—the teenager to the rooftop of the airport. Soon, Peter is face-to-face with a black helicopter with a silver ‘Stark’ written on the side, standing proudly on the large letter ‘H’. His brows go up and he faces Tony with a curious expression.

The slight devious smile he receives does funny things to him and his heart, and once again—Peter doesn’t have time to unpack that.

Tony help him put his luggage into the backseat of the helicopter. With a smirk and an outstretched hand, Tony assists Peter sit on the passenger side. The younger man looks down to see the belt straps in a confusing formation, that has Peter open his mouth to ask how to buckle himself in.

However, Peter hears his mouth close with a click when he locks eyes with Tony who is now much closer to him than he was a second ago. He bites his lip when the overwhelming scent of tangerines, the manly cologne and the softness of _just Tony_ invades his senses. The warmth of Tony’s nimble fingers seep through his shirt and suit when he handles the belt buckles around Peter, pressing the lock and hook together until a ‘click’ sound is heard. He tightens his abs when Tony pats his stomach, the buckle providing no space between his touch and Peter’s body. It sends Peter’s head spinning.

“There we go. Safe and sound.”

For someone who is considered a chatterbox, Peter can feel his voice get taken away, his brown eyes blinking owlishly at the man. Tony doesn’t seem to notice, and hops off from his side to walk over to the driver’s door. By the time the other door opens, Peter has gathered enough wits to let out a shaky reply, “W-With you, I doubt that’s possible.”

A chuckle escapes Tony. He settles in and takes off his blazer to chuck it to the back, and Peter bites his own lip even harder. _Dear God, I don’t mean to be dramatic, but give me strength to deal with this one week. Please._

Tony’s arms flex as his hand reaches above him to flick switches. Peter turns away, despite the want in him to keep staring at the man. The board beeps repeatedly, and he can feel the vibration of the engine powering up. Tony taps on Peter’s bicep to point the headphones in front him and Peter places them on his head, a soft crackle comes from the speakers.

“Check one, I am checking for one Peter Parker. Is there a Peter Parker in here? Or just a spider?” He turns his head to look at the grinning older man, who looks too proud of himself for saying those words.

“Spider checking in, sir. Is the Iron Idiot ready to go?” Peter grins wide at the sweet laughter that pours out of his headphones, and for a moment, Peter wishes he can kiss the man right there and then.

After a minute of doing the required adjustments, Tony is soon pulling on the cyclic in front of him, his feet pressing down on the pedals. “You know, I can just get Friday to do this for me.”

Peter scoffs, “Then why risk our lives out here?”

A slightly stern look that is sent his way is enough to make him feel a little embarrassed. Although, the bright smile that makes it onto Tony’s face dispels any actually irritation. “I haven’t been here in a while. And I wanted to take the time to take in the sights again. Besides, if I, at some point, lose control, I doubt Friday would let us die. She loves you too much.”

The gentle Scottish lilt rings over both of their headphones. “That is quite true, Boss. I wouldn’t dare let anything happen to my favourite spider.”

A flattered look makes it to Peter’s face. “Thanks, Friday.”

Tony frowns. “And me?”

“I’m sure there’s a parachute somewhere in here for you, Boss.” Peter laughs loudly, and Tony grumbles under his breath.

They eventually leave the air space of the airport, and soon find themselves over the buildings of Milan. Peter doesn’t even notice that he’s practically out of his seat, leaning over to the glass to admire the specks of light and people sprinkled all over the land they fly over.

Peter almost feels breathless as he watches the soft glow of city lights, the life on the streets bustling in the perfect evening; not a cloud in sight and the weather is practically flawless. Who wouldn’t want to spend their evening out on a night like this? The majestic skyscrapers that modernise the otherwise gorgeous and complex architecture of cathedrals and old buildings. The nightlife is a stark contrast to the warm enveloping blackness of the sky, the moonlight gracing the edges of every building. This view is absolutely breath-taking.

Peter looks over to Tony, adrenaline warming his veins, and meets his intense gaze. He tries to ignore the tingling feeling all over his body from that look. However, that’s almost impossible. Because of how the golden lights of the city seem to make Tony’s big brown eyes sparkle even more. They bring out the strong features of the genius, the straight line of his nose, the soft coif of his greying hair, the tiny lines of scars on his face, the gaping lips of the older man all making Peter’s thoughts go haywire. His heartbeat is loud and fast in his ears and his stomach is in pleasant, warm knots. Peter is now completely sure he’s breathless.

_This view is absolutely breath-taking._

They arrive at the roof of their hotel with no issue. Peter just mostly feeling overwhelmed by what he feels for the man right next to him. The more time he spends with said man alone, the more Peter is sure of his infatuation with his mentor. But he is a little afraid of the fact his infatuation may be teetering the line; going over the edge, risking to make other things incredibly more complicated than it already is. Because Peter is so sure that the fact his body tingles when Tony gives him a look; the fact his heart flips and twists at the thought of Tony thinking of him; the fact that his head spins when he even smells him, what he feels for the billionaire genius is not only infatuation anymore.

When they step out of the helicopter—bellboys ringing up their luggage and rolling them to their respective rooms—Tony shrugs on his blazer, as he says to Peter, “So, kid. What to eat for dinner. You decide.”

Peter pauses, his hands sliding into his denim pockets.

“You can choose, kid. It’s all right. Just as long as you don’t go for any fast food chains here. Especially McDonald’s. I won’t forgive you if we end up traveling for hours in a metal tube for a McDonald’s cheeseburger.” Tony grimaces, and wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulder to lead him to the elevator. The movement so familiar, so fluid, so… _parental_ , it sends a shot of guilt to Peter’s stomach that makes his indecisive frown turn into a guilt-ridden one. Peter may not see him as father figure, but Tony sees him as a protégé. Someone to pass the baton to, maybe. To add him as an addition to the team. Just… _a teammate._

Peter stutters, “Uh, we can try the pizza here. I’ve never tried any other pizza than the New York ones.”

Tony nods and they head to the parking garage, which houses a silver Audi that Peter is pretty sure Tony owns. Knowing the billionaire, he didn’t rent it, probably bought it before they went for take off.

They go off after asking Friday to give them directions to the closest pizza place, a place that at least has four stars. As they race through the streets, Tony points out places he’s seen before and tells stories behind each of the locations he’s visited. This one club he’s been to, all beaming lights and purple fog, it was where he held his twenty-second birthday party. This tall tower that seems to be carved out of marble, was where his mother first told him the history of her family’s side. It was the comments about his mother that make Peter pause and stare at Tony.

Tony rarely ever talks about his parents—scratch that, he _never_ talks about them—and it is jarring for Peter to see the Tony look at these places whizzing by the windows with such tenderness, as if greeting an old friend. Peter can’t help the grin when he thinks about how Tony needs this trip as much as Peter does.

They stop at the pizza parlour. They order a classic cheese and a meat lover. The food is ready fast and in less than half an hour, they’re back at the hotel. When they drive back, Peter only then realises he never had the chance to look at the grand building. The place they stay at is all smooth granite and white marble, carved and arched in a beautiful unique style. Peter even sees a couple of white statues of cloth draped over naked people on the way to their parking lot.

Carrying the hot boxes in one hand, they go up in the lift straight to their floor. Peter fixes a small grin as he inhales the strong scent of the cheese from the steaming boxes. Tony gestures him to his own room, and he opens the door with a soft ‘click’. Peter is not even surprised by the extravagant hotel room, yet he still admires the sleek design of the room.

He whistles, “You really don’t go half-way with vacations, do you, Mr. Stark?”

Tony laughs and toes off his shoes. Just as Peter is about to put the boxes—that are nearly burning his hand off—onto the glass coffee table, he hears Tony click his tongue and he looks up. Tony opens the sliding glass doors to the balcony and waves a hand to Peter.

Peter passes Tony and—with nimble legs—he kicks his feet over the ledge of the concrete balcony, placing the cardboard boxes next to him. Peter watches Tony over his shoulder as he sits on the ledge and spins in the spot, so he’s sitting right next to the smirking teenager with the two boxes separating the both of them. Despite the amazing pizza between them, Peter would rather be all pressed up against his mentor, feeling his warmth.

“Not bad for an old dude,” Peter teases and he can feel warmth run through him till his fingertips when Tony rolls his eyes and opens the cheese pizza box. The aroma of cheese and grease and marinara sauce is enough for Tony to keep his snarky reply to himself.

A couple of minutes tick by, the silence only broken by chewing sounds and the occasional honks from the street below them. Peter keeps his eyes on the bright skyline, not wanting to turn to Tony because he knows for a fact that if he takes one look at the genius, he’ll never get his eyes off of him. He sometimes wishes that his heart can listen to his brain sometimes, especially when it comes to the billionaire.

“So, kid. How was finals? You think you did okay?”

“Yeah, I mean I did put in a lot of hours catching up on work and stuff. I didn’t really find any of the papers too hard to do.”

“That’s good. That you’re handling being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man and school well. I remember when I first became Iron Man, or at least when I just started building my first few suits.” The realisation of that happening a little over ten years ago is enough to give Peter a jolt. _He was only seven when Tony came from Afghanistan. Does kind of put the age difference into perspective._

“I remember not sleeping for days, just trapped in the workshop and working for hours. And you know, because of shutting down the weapons division, I was nearly kicked out of my own company.”

Peter turns to him, mouth in a straight line. With a tentative look in his eyes, he softly mumbles, “But the suits were not the reason you stayed awake, right?”

Tony doesn’t move a muscle for a moment, and eventually a soft sigh comes out. “No. It wasn’t. The water boarding and the surgery of the arc reactor done without anaesthetics kept me from sleeping a goddamn wink. Just one moment without seeing my lab could freak me out sometimes.”

They keep silent for a moment. Peter eyes are glued to this one car’s blinking red light, counting down every second that passes without it lighting up. Peter wonders if Tony has ever gotten a proper night’s of sleep ever since he came back from Afghanistan. As a kid, watching his idol come back after three months being MIA was such a thrill, having him back from whatever kept _the_ Tony Stark from appearing on television. But Peter still remembers that moment—when his eyes were staring right at the screen of Tony in his suit, his arm in a cast—when he notices the different look on the genius. The air around him such a stark contrast, more tense and cautious than the usual arrogant and suave way he carries himself. Peter recognised that look in the billionaire’s eyes, it’s the same glint in his own eyes when he thinks about his parents.

Peter has a hunch that his sleep was—and never will be again—the same after he came back to America.

Peter’s words are stuck in his throat, and he glances over to Tony. He inhales deeply, trying to shed off some of the nerves running in his veins. One part of Peter doesn’t know why he’s willing to spill his inner thoughts to Tony, a man who is only known as his mentor ( ~~and crush~~ ), who has a billion better things to do than to listen to some teenager talk about his angst. But the other part of him—the one who believes in Tony and in their budding friendship—argues that Tony would never not take him seriously, that he’s not the type of person to downplay someone else’s problems; that was the whole reason of that fight on the rooftop a year ago, to make Peter see that he’s always taken seriously.

So, Peter tenses his shoulders—as if preparing for an attack—and takes another deep breath. “Mr. Stark? Can I… share something?”

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead, Pete.” Peter frowns, not quite fully sure on how to share his thoughts.

“You know how I said I can’t play football now? How I can’t be… different?” Peter’s fingers play with the tiny crumbs on the cardboard box, flicking them into the air. Tony hums.

Peter is silent for a few seconds, and Tony finally feels the apprehension the kid is feeling. He glances down to his hands, how he picks up the crumbs and brush them off with his other hand like a nervous tick. Tony knows he shouldn’t worry, so he keeps a neutral face on, waiting for Peter to string his words together in his head. “There are moments… Sometimes. They’re rare and they only happen on those bad days. For example, my uh—my parents’ and Uncle Ben’s death anniversary.”

Tony doesn’t reply, keeping his emotions level headed. Peter doesn’t meet his eyes. “I think of stuff that I feel bad about, sometimes.”

“What do you think about?”

“How… sometimes I wish I never had the spider bite me. That I never had the change to something greater than a teenager should’ve been.” Peter spoke in such a rush it takes a moment for Tony’s fast brain to catch up, and when he does, the corner of his lip twitches downward. “Sometimes I wish… I was normal.”

Peter sighs, his crumb dusted fingers coming up to play with the strings of his sweatshirt, rolling the knot of the drawstring between his thumbs. “You know, I see all these teenagers who worry about… homework and girls and, and what’s going to happen in the next episode of their favourite show, you know?”

“I honestly envy them.” Peter can feel the nerves in him start to build even more, piling up as he recalls what he felt and Peter can’t stop the words from spilling his emotions. “I do. Life is so easy when they only think about their own lives, like the world revolves around them. And I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“It’s just—” Peter sucks in a breath, his eyes stinging as memories of certain nights play before his eyes. Those nights where he watches his schoolmates hang out after school from a rooftop above, in his red and blue suit; the constant weight of feeling like he’s missing out on his life as a teenager. “It’s—hard. When all my time is being taken up by worrying if something bad is happening in the city, and knowing I can stop it. That small paranoid part of me never goes away, ever… It’s… It’s…”

A hot tear spills out, and his hand immediately reaches up to wipe it away. He doesn’t turn to Tony, not ready to see his reaction yet. He’s not quite sure why he’s anticipating his reaction but he can definitely feel the intense gaze aimed at him. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“And no, don’t get me wrong, I love so many things about being Spiderman. I get to do what I love and that got me to meet you, and even fight the Avengers! I’ve got this amazing suit and a great teacher. It’s been such a wild ride. And that’s why I feel so bad when I wish I’m not Spider-Man.

“It’s those difficult days, where I just wish I am a normal teenager with a normal life, because the idea of the responsibility is just so… daunting. I just want to hide and let someone else take the blame for a day.” Peter peeks up at Tony, “Does that make me a coward?”

Something in Tony softens and the man instinctively reaches out to pat his shoulder in comfort. He bites his lip, words turning over in his head, but the resolution on his face is unmistakable. “No, it doesn’t, Peter.”

The walls built up in Peter crumbles and he almost slumps forward, an exhale drawn out of him. “Really?”

Tony shakes his head. “If anything, kid, it just makes you stronger. To admit that you need help every once in a while. Old dogs like me and Rogers have egos too big to let go of our responsibility, no matter how crushing it is. I don’t want you to be like me, Pete. Like I said, I’ve always wanted you to be better.”

Relief washes over Peter and suddenly it seems like so much weight has been lifted off of him. Tony’s words hold so much meaning for Peter; he practically depends on them like the Holy Grail of advice. Peter knows it’s a little immature to put his mentor on a mini pedestal—that he looks up to him so much—but he can’t help it. Peter trusts Tony with his life if it comes down to it, because Tony is that person for him.

“But it still doesn’t stop the guilt.”

“Peter, I get what you mean.” Tony sighs, sadness lacing his tone. “All heroes go through the same thing, trust me.”

His heavy hand slides off of Peter and suddenly he misses the warmth from his large hand.

“Sometimes, I wish I died in that cave long ago. I wish I never left that place alive because in those rare moments you said, those bad days, the shit we went through before can never be worse than what we face right now.” Tony rubs his hands together, a small tremor running through his left hand.

“But over the years, I came to realise that that can’t be further from the truth. You just have to know you aren’t alone in this whole thing. That there are people who watch over you, and don’t even mind taking the reins over a little bit.” Peter watches Tony’s expression go dim, and he has no doubt in his mind his mentor is thinking about the Captain.

“Like Rhodey and Vision, sir?” Peter asks, hoping to distract his thoughts away. A ghost of a smile appears.

“Yeah, exactly like them.”

Peter bites his lips and says so softly, “And me?”

It’s silent. And Peter risks a glance up to the older man, only to catch him staring right back at him, something deep and gentle—reminds Peter of the dark ocean waves that rise in the high tide, familiar and comforting—blooming behind his eyes. Peter’s voice is stuck once again, the silence somehow ringing in his ears as his senses all focus on the glint in the genius’ eye. It’s like everything is dialled to eleven, but instead of being overwhelmed, his brain chooses Tony as its distraction. It is grounding Peter in ways he never expected.

Tony blinks and the intensity vanishes, warmth only left behind as he says, “Of course. Can’t leave out the best crime-fighting spider we have.”

All Peter can do is let out a long exhale, that previous look somewhat kept him in a vice grip and took his breath away. Confusion takes over the span of his consciousness, wondering what was going through Tony’s big, clever brain in those three seconds. Peter nods, breath shaky. “Y-Yeah. Of course.”

Another loud honk from the streets break the tension, and Peter feels a rush of cold when Tony’s eyes move away from him. Tony dusts off his hands, licks his red stained thumb and swings his legs back over to the balcony floor. “Let’s go for a walk, kid.”

Peter doesn’t process the words in his brain yet, the image of dark orbs peering into his soul seem to be seared behind his eyelids. He shakes his head, hoping to brush off that lingering feeling of being around Tony’s strong aura all the time, and he pushes himself to his feet, sneakers squeaking as he rushes forward to catch up with his mentor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fucking love all of you and all your comments. Absolutely beautiful people.❤️❤️


	5. Take a look in that mirror (take a look). Now tell me who's the fairest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go for a walk, and Tony feels very emotionally compromised.
> 
> Lots of sexual tension ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall!!!! Just wanna say a few things before we start.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TONY EDWARD STARK!!!!! 🎉🎂😊❤️ 
> 
> Another thing is that, I was in a lot of tooth pain a few days ago (and the issue already has been resolved, thank god) but because of that, during that time, I couldn't write so I ended up being behind schedule in writing. 
> 
> So that means, I will be taking a few days off to catch up with my writing so you guys won't see me post anything for about a week. This story will not be discontinued or whatever, I just need a little breather to write in my spare time. 
> 
> I will still be online and replying to all your lovely comments and talking with you beautiful people. I just won't post for a while. I hope you guys understand! 
> 
> And I'm sort of thinking to change the summary of the fic a little bit. 
> 
> Love you guys lots and enjoy the new chapter!!! ❤️
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to tell you all that this chapter was inspired by that scene in 'Only You'. Actually, this entire fic started because of that movie. The whole travelling to Europe on whim and the sexual tension. Basically this fic's muse.

They walk through the nearly empty streets, because of how late into the evening it is. The satisfying taps of their shoes on the cobblestone floor echo in the quiet night, silence between the pair. Tony feels content and he’s glad that despite the somewhat heavy conversation before, Peter is comfortable enough with him to not feel awkward after baring himself to Tony.

He almost feels sad in a way, because of how Peter puts so much trust into Tony as a mentor, a teacher and not as someone who wants anything more than that. Peter doesn’t know; he _can’t_ know. Tony may be known as that destructive person who says ‘fuck it’ to everything in his life but for once, Tony doesn’t want to ruin this, doesn’t want to sabotage something so _valuable_ to him. Tony wants to try for the kid.

Because Peter does that to the people around him, he brings out the side in Tony he didn’t even know existed until the kid wiggled himself into Tony’s messy life and his old heart. The side that wants to try. He’s not surprised, after all, Peter is the epitome of _good_. Tony is bound to be affected by it some time or another.

Tony wishes he has his strong scotch with him (but of course he hasn’t drank any in such a long time because Peter hid all his stashes away. Another one of the countless ways that kid impacted his life.) because all these jumbled up prose-like proclamations that his brain spits out at the sight of Peter are starting to annoy him. (Maybe the reason why it’s been happening so often now is because he hasn’t tried to drown his thoughts in alcohol.) It’s quite an unsettling thing for Tony to suddenly have to face his emotions head-on, especially when he’s around Peter; he is not exactly known for his sensitive side.

Which is why he berates himself when he hears his thoughts start to stray—into the territory of pondering over his complex feelings for the kid—when he hears Peter laugh at some dumb joke he made.

Tony breathes out an easy chuckle, eyes going to the night sky. Their soft footfalls against the stone pavement somewhat therapeutic. The air is light, a slightly cooler breeze blowing against their warm skin. Even at night the place smells like freshly bloomed flowers and the hint of vanilla from the pastry shops open earlier in the day.

Tony looks over to Peter, whose skin is almost glowing under the pale moonlight and the warm yellow streetlamps. His eyes seems to glimmer as they take in the dark scenery of their surroundings. As they near a stone bridge, Peter’s eyes wander over the water, reflecting the silver light from the moon in waves.

Peter, despite being young and constantly around hormonal teenagers, is surprisingly still single. And still very inexperienced in the dating game, other than that one date with that girl months ago. Which Tony gets; he is still young, after all, and most of his attention is taken up by his duty of watching over New York City. But it is such a shame for his peers to miss out on the beauty that’s called Peter Parker. The soft skin, doe brown eyes, the pink lips, the gentle curve of his strong jaw—why doesn’t anyone want to grab him and keep him to themselves, Tony doesn’t know—and Tony wants nothing more than to pull him closer and remove this annoying distance between them. But he can’t. That’s why he forces himself to look straight, and train his eyes on the ground as they walk over the bridge.

Peter lets out a soft sigh, “I really haven’t seen anything like this, Mr. Stark. I’m glad you brought me out here, you really didn’t have to.”

Tony gulps but waves a hand; a weak show of nonchalance. “Kid, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think you’re good company. Besides, you needed a change of scenery and a break from being friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.”

Peter nods, a small skip in his step as he cranes his neck to look over the ledge and to the water. Peter’s unadulterated inquisitiveness, whether if it’s in the lab when learning about new tech or if it’s out here in Italy, admiring the views, is marvellous to see. It’s an authentic show of Peter’s amiable and brilliant personality.

The rest of the walk is quiet; possibly a little awkward but Tony is sure he’s just projecting. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous. This shouldn’t be any different from their other hang-outs due to all the time they’ve already spent together. But to him, it is. Because this isn’t them tinkering in the lab or eating takeout in the living room, where everything is a force of habit, mundane, expected (one could even say domestic), it’s them walking through Milan—in a country known for its romance—where there’s no stable ground and Tony can’t help it but let that get to his head. It’s the known versus the unknown. Tony can’t pull his usual responses and play off things that easily.

He swallows when he catches sight of Peter’s soft hair, suddenly overcome with the urge to run his fingers through it. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He doesn’t want to go down that road too soon. _It’s not worth it._

At the end of bridge, there is an old lady holding a basket of roses, sitting on a stool, looking around. Tony, for some inexplicable reason that he can’t explain (or just doesn’t want to think about), pulls out his wallet and takes out ten euros without looking at Peter.

Peter’s brows fly to his hairline as he watches his mentor hand over the bill and with a strike of surprise and something else, he hears Tony’s voice say, “Tre rose. Tieni il resto.”

His mouth gapes. Tony takes three roses from the woman with a charming grin and turns to Peter. His brows furrow at the look on Peter’s face, now worrying he may have stepped over the line with this small—and yeah, probably a touch _too romantic_ —gift.

“You speak Italian?” Tony looks puzzled for a moment—as though he assumed Peter knew—then relaxes, an easy smirk on his lips. With the three roses between his deft fingers, he hands them over to Peter. The kid looks like the roses are about to bite him, his hand hesitant to take them from Tony. Tony’s body keels over slightly with his hands behind his back, as if thinking over his words.

“Well, I’ll be one title less in my ‘Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist’ title card if I didn’t know a few languages up my sleeve.” Tony walks forward, as if his sentence just made total sense.

He grins to himself when he can practically feel the confusion radiating off Peter as he stands frozen, trying to decipher what he just said. Tony smiles wider when he hears Peter catch up with him, “But there’s three titles that can be the reason why you’re bilingual!”

“Technically multilingual, if we’re counting the full list.”

“Multilingual even! I’d make sense if you’re a genius cause a lot of geniuses have the intellect to pick up a language like its nothing. Then, it’d make sense if you’re a billionaire who grew up with a lot of opportunities to study languages others can’t. Especially because you’re American.”

Tony cocks a brow for Peter to continue. “And the third title?”

“Well…” Peter’s cheeks are dusted with pink. “I’d make sense if you had to use the different languages to… pick up different people.”

With a straight face, Tony says, “I’ll give you three guesses to which came most useful.”

Peter’s face redden even more. Tony takes in his bashful reaction and just nods, “And that assumption is completely correct.”

Peter’s face sours, yet the amused twinkle in his eye eliminates any actual judgement. A beat passes and they turn to each other. They stare at each other for a moment, faces flat and devoid of emotion before they burst out laughing suddenly.

 _God fuck, his laugh_. Tony purposely doesn’t think about that one time he kept hearing Peter’s beautiful, soft laughter in his head—after one of Tony’s poor attempt at a quip—and how he always smiled like an idiot at the sound.

“Honestly, I doubt that anyone would ever even turn down a chance to sleep with the multilingual, billionaire playboy,” Peter offhandedly says through the peals of laughter. Tony’s mirth dies down a little when he realises what Peter just said. He straightens up and with a grin, studies Peter’s face for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“Maybe,” Tony says.

They continue on with the conversation, atmosphere much more lively as Tony recounts several of his awkward-slash-weirdest sexual escapades.

“So I wake up in the hotel, barely even remembering a thing that happened the last night. And for some reason, there’s a pile of pancakes on my stomach, and my chest was completely covered in syrup. If iHop had a photoshoot, I don’t doubt that moment would be perfect for the cover.”

Peter is shaking his head, eyes filled with mirth and warmth as he tries to imagine all the wild scenarios that Tony seem to find himself in. “Apparently she was _really_ into food play. Wanted me to practically choke myself with syrup as she eats the pancakes off my body.”

Loud laughter rings out in the air when Peter watches Tony shudder, as if the event traumatised him. “Oh man, was it that gross?”

Tony shrugs, a smile on his face as he watches how much Peter is entertained by his recounts and decides he wants to take things up a notch. “Eh, it wasn’t too bad. I don’t mind trying new things, especially back then. Besides, I’ve swallowed fluids thicker than syrup.”

Peter chokes on his saliva, his face going up in flames and Tony feels kind of bad at how crass he is. Tony bites back his laughter at the awkward way Peter now holds himself. The kid looks up at him and says in a dry tone, “Solid joke.”

Tony can’t hold back the laughter this time.

Usually he wouldn’t talk about them in front of the kid—or anyone else for that matter—but Peter doesn’t seem to mind. He actually seems to hang on to every word that comes out of Tony’s mouth, which shouldn’t surprise Tony, but it does, because he, at least, expects disgust or some sort of disapproval that he usually get from Pepper or Rhodey. And how does Tony deal with that? With the reality that Peter doesn’t think less of him because of his sexual past? He feels concern. For himself. Because how can he resist the temptation of falling even harder, making things riskier. Despite all that, Tony pushes the worry to back of his mind, more content in enjoying Peter’s company for tonight.

“What’s like, the number one thing that can, I don’t know, turn you on always. Without fail.” Tony’s world goes a tiny bit off its normal axis, because of how casual Peter’s tone is. The older man almost forgot how it’s like to talk about sex with friends, which is most likely the thing that’s happening right now. Again, Tony feels glad that Peter is comfortable enough around him.

“Without fail? Uh, lemme think about it. Sometimes it’s kind of hard to get me in the mood, if we’re talking about flings.” Peter nods. Tony goes through his memory, searching through his past sexual experiences and trying to come up with a real answer.

“I think it’s gotta be lingerie for me.”

“Like the ones those performers wore at the Stark Expo during your entrance?” Peter inquires. Tony tilts his head, not sure what Peter is talking about. Until he realises what he means. “Those dancers? How do you even remember those? That was a long time ago.”

Peter shrugs, his fingers rubbing over where the rose stem was snipped of its thorns. “I was there.”

Tony does the math in his head. “That was nearly ten years ago. You were what, seven?”

Peter nods and a reminiscent smile takes over his lips. “Yup. I remember first meeting you then. And also the second time when you saved me from that drone.”

Tony’s brows furrow, his mind doing a mental backtrack of that night. How could he have met Peter that night? He doesn’t remember meeting a kid that small, despite the fact he met a lot of fans back in those days. If he met Peter twice, he would’ve remembered him. The man completely stops in his tracks when something dawn in him, coldness settling in his chest. Tony places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, halting him in his movement as well. “You were the kid in the helmet?”

“You remember?” Peter is all wide eyed shock and awe, but Tony is a completely different case. The man almost looks like he wants to retch on the sidewalk, his face turning ashy. Peter frowns, “Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”

Tony turns to him, something heavy in his gaze, “You were already giving me heart attacks before I even knew you, kid. How do you even do that?”

Peter blinks, then to Tony’s surprise, he starts laughing. He throws his head back, a chortle rising out of him. “I thought you knew!”

“No, I definitely did not,” Tony mumbles, the memory replaying in his head. God, if he wasn’t there in time, Peter wouldn’t be here. _Holy shit_. He doesn't know what to feel about that. 

Peter laughs even more. Tony draws back, his face turning into a grimace. “Just give me a second to process that you would’ve died if it weren’t for me. Also, what the hell, kid?”

“What made you think you had to do that?” Tony sounds near hysterical now.

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I thought it would’ve been cool and I thought my repulsors would’ve worked. I was a kid okay?”

“I swear, you’re still as brave and dumb as you were when you were seven.”

“I guess not much has changed, huh?” Peter smiles and Tony can’t keep the worry in him for too long, getting easily distracted by Peter beaming at him. Tony softens and he lets go of Peter’s shoulder. “God, kid. The number of heart attacks you’ve nearly caused is increasing every day.”

The familiar warmth blooms in his chest at the sound of the kid’s laugh. He will never get sick hearing it.

Tony gestures to the road, “Want to go back? It’s getting late, past your bedtime.”

Peter nods, and seem to want to say something in retaliation for the bedtime joke, but a yawn escaping his lips stop him. An arched brow from Tony is enough for the teenager to flush under his gaze. He mumbles, “Shut up. It was a long flight. I’m tired.”

They walk back in the direction of their hotel, the chatter mostly consisting of Peter’s observations in Italy. Tony has never heard anyone in his life describe Italy as ‘that misogynist jerk in class that hits on random girls in parties and only gets invited because he’s good at cooking’ country in Europe until now. Well, at least, Tony appreciates Peter’s total honesty, even if it’s the result of jet lag and a food coma. Although, Tony has to agree with Peter’s opinion and adds on with ‘He also loves to be the centre of attention’. Which leads into a whole debate on describing countries as people in high school. It’s probably the most entertaining conversation Tony has had in a long time.

By the time they arrive, Peter’s movements are slightly sluggish and his eyelids seem to droop. Tony pats his shoulder in hope to jolt him to consciousness, which doesn’t help. Once in their floor’s hallway, Tony stops and watches Peter pass by him to get to his room. Their rooms are right next to each other, which Tony specifically requested for, making it easier for both of them to contact each other if something were to go wrong (at least that’s what Tony’s reason was to Peter and himself).

Peter’s hand come up with his card, roses in the other, and swipes it over the reader with a beep. Before he fully steps into the room, Peter stops and looks over to Tony. A slightly rueful yet pleasant smile twitches on his lips.

“Thank you so much for today. Goodnight, Mr. Stark.” His tone is so… soft and _fucking beautiful_. He doesn’t know what happens to him, but Tony suddenly feels his chest clench and something in him melt. His voice is breathless when he mumbles back, “You too, kid.”

He waits until Peter enters the room completely, the smile never leaving the teenager’s face. The first thing that Tony does when he goes into his own room, is to throw himself onto his bed and groan into his hands—like a pathetic pining idiot in a romantic comedy—feeling absolutely wretched and confused and so, so, so enamoured with this kid, it scares the shit out of him. The hopelessness resonating throughout his body is caused by the reality of this utterly messed up situation he got himself into.

He saw the warning signs, the red flags; heard the sirens that go off in his head when things slowly crawl over into uncharted and forbidden territory. There’s a line—a fine line that clearly shows the distinction between right and wrong—and Tony knows no one should cross it. Not even him. Then again, he is Tony Stark, the self-sacrificing monster who broke the Avengers apart; so what’s another mistake? He didn’t stop himself from putting a foot right on that line, letting his thoughts of Peter run rampant. That’s when he got a taste of the forbidden fruit, and now, he’s absolutely addicted to it. After that, the bigger picture became blurry, and although Tony knows this is—at best—morally ambiguous, things shift and suddenly it’s not a mistake anymore.

Because who can call this pretty, innocent Peter Parker a mistake?

This precious person who shines with all his sweetness, kindness and outright goodness can never be a fault in Tony’s eyes. The kid can make a few of his own but Peter, as a whole—who practically oozes good morals—is not a mistake.

Tony flips over onto his back, eyes glazed over as he stares at the ceiling.

The guilt comes into the picture when Tony thinks about how clueless Peter—bless his heart—is forced into the picture without even knowing it; with Tony’s destructive self latching onto the kid. With guilt aside, Tony actually does not ever regret realising his feelings for Peter because the kid deserves that kind of love. (Not that Tony thinks he is worthy of him in any way) Peter deserves someone who notices him and protects him, swearing to keep him safe no matter what.

Tony can be that for him, the only unusual precondition here is that Peter doesn’t have to ever find out; he can’t know that Tony would do all of that for him. For now, Tony is content giving him everything the kid desires without knowing the depth of how much Peter has unknowingly embedded himself into Tony’s heart.

Tony sits up to take his blazer off, but he can feel his racing heartbeat when his hand brushes his chest. He winces internally when his fingers rub over the sunken divot in the middle of his chest, another scar to remind him of his failures.

And when that day comes, when Peter finds someone—someone much, much younger and more capable than Tony—who can be that for him, Tony hopes that person is worthy of being loved by Peter. (Although, if you ask Tony, he’d say that no being on this Earth can ever be worthy of Peter’s affection and attention.) Even then, Tony is okay with watching from the side-lines, still giving his unconditional love and support to the kid who has stolen his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s early in the morning, when the sun is just breaking the line at the horizon when Tony discovers Peter’s room empty. He finds Peter at the crystal clear pool by asking Karen through Friday, already taking advantage of the hotel amenities. The pool area is half full, people of all ages hanging around and taking a morning swim. Luckily, there are not many children around to burst Tony’s eardrums and the old people just seem to want to tan.

Tony is in a sports shirt and trunks, a pair of red tinted aviators on the bridge of his nose. He brings his tablet and a towel along with him, settling down in a sunbed with a table that has Peter’s phone and towel on it. He lays back, hoping to get some work done and some contracts signed before breakfast. Tony doesn’t really like being cooped up in a hotel room for hours, no matter how luxurious it is. He can feel the warmth through the black umbrella, but it’s not unbearable because of the gentle breeze that comes from being on the fifteenth floor.

He’s on his second reading of the fifth document, when Tony’s eyes flicker up to see Peter, his attention caught by something. Something that sends his tablet slipping out his hands and tumbling to his lap. Something that has his jaw—and many others’ at the pool—dropping to the floor.

It is the sight of Peter lifting himself out of the pool, breaking out of the clear water and pulling up at the edge, the water dripping down from his hair and rolling down his back in graceful rivulets. The spectacle is more marvellous because of how his muscles seem to ripple like the water he was getting out of, his skin shiny and hair soaked as he sits at the edge, his back to Tony. Which—in Tony’s opinion—is much, _much_ worse as he gets front seats to seeing the exquisite firm back muscles move fluidly.

Tony doesn’t know who he hates more. Himself—for perving on his unsuspecting mentee—or the other people at the pool—who think they deserve to get an eyeful of the enticing treat in front of them. A more primitive part of him growls in possessiveness when they don’t even try to hide their greedy expressions, but then calms in content at the sight of their jealous looks when Peter bounds over to him, babbling about how great the pool is.

He fixes a smile on his face, and says in an undertone, eyes only for him, “You’ve been getting quite the looks, Mr. Parker.”

Peter perks up and glances around, then realises he’s basically the centre of attention of everyone at the pool. He turns red and shrugs, a hidden smile on his lips. Tony just swallows hard, eyes straying down to his bare chest. He feels like he wants to sink into the ground as the harsh reality of how difficult this trip is going to be hits him.

Tony sighs, accepting his fate when Peter beams up at him again, the sheer joy on his face enough to make Tony’s brain short circuit.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes Tony about half an hour during breakfast to crack Peter to agree to go shopping with him (or more specifically, for him). And it takes even long to urge him to enter the stores. So he just ends up rolling his eyes as he physically drags him into the fashion boutique. Of course, that isn’t before Peter makes a squawking sound as his eyes catch the words ‘Giorgio Armani’ on the wall on the outside.

When they enter, Peter already feels like the floor is too expensive to walk on. Smooth walls and soft beige colour that matches well to the warm golden glow from the chandeliers. Looking modern yet somewhat high class. The employees are first to stare at him with slight judgement in their eyes when they roam over his graphic tee and jeans, that quickly disappear when they see the man attached to his hip. The two heroes share a knowing look and resist the urge to roll their eyes.

Tony walks him through several hanger racks, all displaying different articles of clothing. Of course, Peter immediately gravitates towards the racks of cashmere sweaters and jeans. Surprisingly, when it comes to ultra soft sweaters, it doesn’t take much to convince Peter to accept the gifts. It’s one of the easiest things to buy for him without argument, despite how each piece can easily go over a thousand.

Tony gets him to try some of the casual shirts because the kid likes to layer up—makes it easier to hide the suit underneath—a bomber jacket embroidered with Japanese fabric and a couple of t-shirts an polos that have the Giorgio Armani logo embellished into the breast pocket.

Tony directs him a large room, that has several curtain doors that lead to big changing rooms. He pushes Peter to one of the vacant changing rooms and says, “Go on, kid. I wanna see if you’re even bulky enough to fit into any one of those shirts.”

He hears a dry ‘ha ha’ when he goes to sit down, and doesn’t fight the smile.

During a few tries of the pieces, Tony had to pretend like the sight of Peter’s biceps doesn’t make his mouth water. He wonders if the kid is doing it on purpose, because of the comment earlier, but he knows it can’t be true. Peter doesn’t see him that way and he has no clue of Tony’s attraction. (At least, he hopes so.)

He’s tapping on his phone when he realises that Peter hasn’t come out of the changing room for a while after showing him the polo tees. “Kid?”

Tony hears a strangled, “Mr. Stark, I think I need help.”

“What’s wrong?” Tony is standing up before he knows it, striding towards the curtain, a wisp of a thought that Peter might be naked barely crossing his mind, before he pulls the curtain aside and gets into the room, the worry more prominent in the forefront of his head.

He closes back the curtain then turns back around. And immediately regrets entering. Because the sight before him is so much worse than the pool spectacle this morning, in all ways. Peter’s head got stuck at the neck of the shirt since he didn’t unbutton the collar, which means that his arms are in the air, holding up the shirt and body exposed to the cold air. If Tony isn’t so distracted by what he is seeing, he’d laugh at how ridiculous this is.

Tony can’t get his eyes off of the defined muscles, the lines of his abs soft and dark with shadows. The pink nipples that seems to harden in the cold air. And the fact the kid is only in his blue boxers. Tony is wondering if the universe is testing his patience—pushing him to the edge—by putting him into scenarios where he has to see this beautiful little thing in front of him. So close yet so unattainable. _And such an indulgence to look at._

He feels shame flood his stomach and he swallows his pride, because he has to be the adult here. He has to do the better thing.

So that’s why he resists running his hands down Peter’s torso, and steps into Peter’s space, reaching up to the buttons to take them off, then helping Peter pull the shirt off from his head.

Peter’s bleary eyes look up at him and he grins. And Tony knows he has to take a step back. He has to give Peter space because he can already feel the body heat radiating from the teenager.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t because of this sudden look in Peter’s eyes that trap him to the spot, somehow gluing his feet to the ground. And Tony holds his breath.

Peter’s long lashes flutter as he peers up at Tony, holding his gaze. He barely breaks the silence in a quiet voice, “Thank you, sir.”

Tony move, his eyes now on Peter’s lips. “No problem, Mr. Parker.”

When Peter blinks, the spell is broken and Tony is left flustered. He moves back, coughing. By the way Peter’s eyes seem to peer into his soul, Tony feels the need to put up his mask of nonchalance fast.

“That shirt looked good on you, kid. Let’s ring it up, yeah?”

Peter stares at him, and Tony shuffles his feet. He has to get out of here.

“Just take what you want and I’ll meet you at the counter. Sound good?”

Pink, thin lips twitch into a ghost of a smile. “Okay, Mr. Stark.”  
  
Tony leaves with a racing heart and shaky hands. The tent in his pants making him feel much worse than he already does.

 

 _It’s only been a day. Jesus fuck_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!!!! Isn't Tony just such an emotional mess around Pete? 😂
> 
> It's like his brain does a complete 180 when that kid is around. It's hilarious to write him like this, allows me to make his thoughts more dramatic.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it!! 
> 
> And ps, I love all of your comments, every single one of them❤️❤️


	6. Gold jewellery shinin' so bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter finds himself drowning in gifts.
> 
> Something goes down during lunch. Peter is desperate to come to grips with his emotions. Tony being Tony doesn't help one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACKK!!!!!!! I MISSED ALL OF YOU!!! (Especially you KimidollSan,❤️ and your lovely comments. Yes, I do see you)
> 
> First things first, I have a [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/noncommited-writer)! So all of you can come and interact with me if you guys are interested in listening to my ramblings and random reblogs.
> 
> Secondly, I just published a new work (like literally a minute ago) which features very very fluffy Starker and love confessions!! 
> 
> Thirdly, while during my small break, I replayed Spiderman PS4 and suddenly, I am hit with so many fic ideas of these two. So be ready for incoming new one-shots and possible multiple series in the future, (One of which is High School AU, Time Travel AU and the other a Established Relationship AU) and I'm so excited for them so I hope yall are too!!!!! ❤️❤️

 

Peter feels like the luckiest guy on Earth, with all the extravagant gifts from Tony, gifts that perfectly embody his billionaire persona; the said man behind him talking in rapid-fire Italian to one of the sales executives, probably asking to get a better size or shade for Peter. He picks at the price tag, which he quickly averts his eyes away from—Peter quickly learned that the easiest way to accept Tony’s gifts is to never look up the price of what he received—and shuffles on his feet. The maroon jacket looks great but the sleeves seem too long, reaching Peter’s knuckles.

They’re at the fifth store they’ve gone to, and Peter is almost worried if their car will have any space left for both of them to get in, on account of the shopping bags shoved into the back seats. He wonders how much longer will this take until they get lunch.

Tony comes up behind him, and Peter can see his open expression in the reflection of the big mirror wall in front of him. With a clap of his hands, Tony slides his hands into his pockets, “So? What do you think about it? Apparently it’s handmade and the designer is pretentious enough to make it incredibly overpriced for a piece of red suede cotton. It’s nuts, but people still buy it.”

Peter smiles, picking at the zipper, “People like you?”

A wink is shot his way, “You know it, kid. If I can afford it, why not, right?”

“You do know there are countless other ways toss money like it’s nothing, right?” His pale slender hands come up to hug himself, feeling the soft material. It may be too expensive and goes against Peter’s idea of encouraging capitalism and consumerism (two things MJ will kill him for) but he does have to agree that it’s made really well, just like all the other designer clothes he received from the generous billionaire. “Like investing into charity work and welfare.”

“Yeah I know, that’s why I have six different charities for it. Like I said, if I can afford it, why not right?” Tony shrugs, as if he’s just spending a few cents on something meaningless, which is the exact opposite of the context he’s laying out. If Tony is as generous when giving away gifts as with donating, then Peter has no doubt in his mind that those charities are non-profit and worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

Peter just hides his smile, looking down at the sleeves. The squeak of Tony’s sneakers behind him is the only warning he gets before he feels Tony’s large hand close around his shoulder, feeling his body press up against his side as he takes the space beside Peter. His eye twitches, his heart now in his throat.

“Anything wrong with the jacket or are you alright with getting this?” Tony asks, voice low.

Peter shakes his head but pauses, looking down at the sleeves again. “Uh, they're uh—a bit long, I think.”

Peter actually flinches when Tony turns around to whistle and beck over an assistant for help, the flurry of motion happening fast. Before he knows it, the jacket is off his shoulders and a smaller size is put on his body by the sales assistant.

Bleary eyes look up at Tony, but the man just rubs his chin as he does a once over, as if contemplating an art piece. A tickle of self consciousness crawls up Peter’s neck from the deep look in his eyes and he resists the urge to close in on himself, holding out his arms awkwardly instead.

Tony’s eyes go up to meet his, an impressed sound in the back of his throat. “Looks good to me. Great, even. You don’t mind getting this, right?”

Peter glances back to the mirror and immediately feels the tell-tale warmth of a blush come on. The jacket is not only shorter on the sleeves, but also on the length of the body; the last jacket covered Peter’s ass but this does the exact opposite. The cut of the jacket is right above his hips, showing off the curve of his bottom and accentuating it with the stark colour of Peter’s deep blue jeans and the light grey of the jacket. Peter’s lips curl up in satisfaction. Sue him, if he likes admiring himself sometimes. He may not ever wear this to school, but it’s a nice piece to have for any casual outing.

He spins on his heel, turning so he can see the other side. He tilts his head, eyes going down his own body. “Yeah, I don’t mind getting this.”

He spins again to face Tony. Tony’s eyes have a glaze over them, as if thinking hard about something, spacing out completely. Peter frowns, “Mr. Stark? I said I don’t mind getting this.”

Tony blinks and he straightens up, clearing his throat. “We’ll round this up and drive around the district. There’s a lot of other places we can hit.”

Peter sighs and shrugs out of the jacket—most likely his now—and hands it over to the sales assistant with a smile. He walks over to the pile of other clothes he tried and slumps onto the bench, placing his head into his hands and peeking through his fingers to catch a glimpse of Tony handing over his card at the counter.

Peter may feel like the luckiest guy on Earth, but that doesn’t dispel the heavy weight of discomfort from Tony spending so much money on him. Considering the way he was raised by Aunt May and his Uncle Ben—frugal and thrifty throughout the ten years they raised him—the ingrained instincts at the mention of large sums of money still twists his insides, usually hitting him like a truck when Tony throws gifts and money at him.

He’s already put some thought into why Tony has an urge to drown him in gifts. If he thinks back to their first argument—back when he’s fifteen and ignorant and arrogant—it’s clear that Tony carries around guilt for things that haven’t occurred yet, especially for Peter who is his ‘responsibility’. Peter gets it, he’s young, in need of sheltering before he can go out there to be a proper superhero. It’s also understandable for Tony to extend his paternal instinct over to other aspects of Peter’s life, take for instance, his needs and wants from a financial standpoint. It hurts for Peter to think that Tony is only buying all this stuff because he thinks it’s his responsibility.

God knows he’ll be a terrible scientist because Peter has all the results he needs, has tested his hypothesis, but he doesn’t want to draw the conclusion.

That’s because it means him accepting the fact that Tony feels obligated to buy him stuff. It’s a hard pill to swallow and Peter doesn’t want to face the reality that Tony just feels guilty. He knows he should stop Tony from doing all this, contributing to further the guilt complex, no matter how much it will ease Tony’s mind.

Peter sighs, deciding to dwell on the problem later when the subject of the problem is right there in the first place.

He walks over to another area, wanting to check out the female’s clothing section. Full of racks of studded coats, shelves of designer dresses and mannequins with impossible body shapes. A particular shade stands out to him and he drifts over to it like he’s captivated by the piece. Once in front of the thin mannequin, he runs a hands down the front of the jacket.

It’s made out of silk satin, feeling like if Peter placed a hand in water, gentle and smooth on his skin. The fabric, rubbing it between his fingers and is surprised by how easily it slips, is pastel pink and has a glossy finish to it.

“Why don’t you try it on?”

Peter jumps, turning around to meet the engineer’s gaze. The smile on his face as he leans against on of the racks—the personification of self-assurance and coolness—is enough to make Peter’s heart do that annoying flip, and he sends a smile of his own. “Nah, it won’t look good on me. I doubt I can pull off pink.”

“You won’t know till you try.” Tony pushes himself off the rack, striding over to Peter as he frees a button of his black blazer. Tony is looking exactly like he did when he first met the kid, grey t-shirt and black blazer, without the shiner on his eye.

He watches as Peter clenches his jaw and picks up the same coat off a rack nearby. He points in Tony’s direction, “I bet twenty bucks on me looking bad in this.”

The man shrugs a shoulder, “I doubt you can make anything look bad.”

Peter pauses, and sweeps away the creeping thoughts before he can ponder on the statement, taking off his sweater and sliding on the jacket over his white tee.

The look on Tony’s face is not what he expects. He expected some sort of amusement or a ribbing comment on his tongue, what he doesn’t expect is the wonder and _awe_ shown clearly on his face. He glances in the mirror.

It’s a pastel pink maxi jacket that reaches mid calf, made of smooth fabric that glides easily over Peter’s skin. He purses his lips. It makes him look… _innocent_. The pink goes well with his pale skin, giving him a doll-like look.

Tony folds his arms, hugging his biceps and says with a dry tone, “You don’t have to pay me the twenty bucks if you wear that out later for lunch.”

Peter snorts, rolling his eyes, catching the twitch of Tony’s lips. “I don't? How generous of you.”

He glances at the mirror once more, looking over himself. Maybe he can let himself indulge a little bit. The colour _is_ pretty on him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do we have to go to a store that sells useless stones that only encourage the idea of luxury consumerism?”

Tony throws him a look, “Because for one, I can afford it, and two, I haven’t gotten a watch from Cartier in a long time. Collection’s getting a little dusty.”

Peter squints. “I thought you build your own watches? Because they turn into gauntlets and stuff?”

Tony nods, pushing the glass door open and leading the way for Peter to enter, “I buy the watches, take them apart then add my own advancements to them. Makes it really easy to answer the same interview questions about who I’m wearing.”

“I bet you’re sick of them.”

“Oh, kid, you have no idea. It does becomes fun when I give some answer that makes no sense. I once said ‘I got it from your mom last night’ which I have to say, not one of my best.”

Peter laughs, “Were you drunk? Cause the Tony Stark I knew would go over dramatic with one line. You have the power to shut everyone with a word and you go for a 'your mom' joke?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I was. Only reason I remember I said that is because JARVIS played a news report of me saying that the next morning.” Tony is already looking at the displays of watches, eyes trailing over the intricacies of each timepiece.

Deciding that Tony may take a while, Peter allows himself to wander around to look at the glowing displays of cut stones. It’s amongst walls of displays of extravagant, gorgeous jewellery that makes Peter think ‘maybe I do see the appeal of wearing all these’.

He stops, tilting his head as he studies one of the necklaces on a neck display. There’s three gold rings held together by a band of diamonds, each ring a different colour of gold; white gold, yellow gold and rose gold, hanging on a yellow gold chain. [It’s beautiful.](https://www.cartier.sg/en-sg/collections/jewellery/categories/necklaces/trinity-de-cartier/b7058700-trinity-de-cartier-necklace.html) A show of elegance and simplicity in its craftsmanship. Peter gives a low whistle. “You’re pretty, aren’t you?” 

Peter takes one last moment to admire it before moving on to another row of gold rings, bedazzled watches and large earrings.

He doesn’t see Tony nod at the sales executive, who gives his own nod back and goes into the back of the store wordlessly.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter is barely holding back his jitters when they stop in front of a Lego Store, a bright grin on his face as he unbuckles from his seat. Tony can only roll his eyes and with a fond smile, says, “Keep calm in there, alright? Can’t have you ruining my reputation as a mentor who can keep track of a teenager.”

Peter gives him a confused look, almost innocent, “But sir, you ruin that all by yourself.”

Tony points a finger at him, “No dessert for you later.”

A cheeky smile greets Tony, and Peter leaves the car, practically racing into the store. He feels like his soul left his body when he comes face to face with a life-size Lego model of the Iron Man suit. He spins to Tony, who is staring at the model with his own surprise.

“Did you do this on purpose?” Peter asks, pointing at the decoy. Tony wipes away his look and smirks, “What would you say if I did?”

“That that is honestly such a cool idea. I’d love a Lego model of Spider-Man, that’d be epic,” Peter walks around the stand, his index finger and thumb rubbing his chin as if conspiring, “but they got your shoulders and arms wrong.”

Tony looks between Peter and the Lego Iron Man, “Really?”

Peter nods, squinting, “Yeah, your arms are bigger than they make it seem here. Maybe it’s because they don’t have the perfect Lego sizes.”

Tony bites his lip, trying not to smile. “Do you look at my arms that often to notice the difference?”

Peter freezes, his eyes shooting to Tony, who has this winning smile on his lips, and flushes pink. He stands up straighter, trying to act nonchalant, “N-No. The difference is pretty obvious if you know how the suit looks like.”

Tony tilts his head at the model, “I don’t notice any difference, though. And I’m the one who created the suit.”

Peter ducks his head, walking to the other side to hide his red face, “I don't—I don't know what—” Peter gives up on trying to hide the truth, settling on stewing in his deep embarrassment. 

Tony chuckles—a rumbly sound that makes Peter feel warm all over—strutting over to the side Peter is trying to escape to, intercepting his way. They end up chest-to-chest, and Peter has to look up to Tony, his heart tumbling into his stomach. His eyes are wide when they meet gazes, and he sees the kind smile on the genius.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, eyes on Tony’s lips when the man says, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m flattered.”

Peter coughs, and steps back. “You’re welcome? I guess.”

He walks up the steps to the second floor, trying to search for the excitement over this store from a minute ago, but instead finding the confusing feelings from being around Tony. He screws his eyes shut and hisses, “C’mon, Parker. You can’t be more obvious than that.”

He doesn’t hear the muttered, “Jesus Christ, creep the kid out more, will you?”

 

* * *

 

 

They end up having lunch at some bistro along the main road of the shopping district. The second they enter, Peter is overwhelmed by the strong scents of cooked meat, melted butter and pastries, and finds his mouth watering. The pink jacket flutters around him as he rushes in after Tony, who leads him to the back where the it’s less crowded and the tables are more secluded.

The moment they’re seated at a booth, a menu is each put into their hands. Peter frowns. “It’s all in Italian.”

Tony looks over the menu at him, a pretty smile on his face, “They have a lot of stuff here. Just say what you want and I can order for you.”

Peter glances at the menu again, his frown deepening at the prices, “Uh, I know you can pay for all of it—”

“Kid, that’s what I’m intending to do the whole trip. This trip is for you, so don’t worry about it.” Tony’s gaze is heavy, sincere in a way that makes Peter’s heart slow down. Peter knows he can trust Tony. Take away the trip, the money and leave only their relationship and bond, and Peter knows he can still trust the man with his life.

“Okay,” he says softly, their eyes still locked. Tony nods once, “What do you want?”

“I’d like some spaghetti.” Peter puts down his menu, opting to focus more on the man before him. Tony doesn’t say anything, a haze beginning to take over his eyes, almost in a trance. “ _Anything_ for you, kid.”

There’s that word again. _Anything_. God, what lengths Peter would go to for that statement to be completely true. He doubts ‘making out until his lips are bruised’ is on Tony’s list of ‘anything’. Tony, the mentor who watches over him as a responsible adult, the man who took Peter under his wing as a form of tutelage, the man who sees their relationship as guardianship and teammates in superhero-ing, is also the man Peter dreams of bringing into bed. Peter surely is going to hell, no doubt about that.

Without breaking eye contact, Tony lifts a hand for the waiter. The engineer only breaks the moment when the waiter is already next to him, sending him a wink to comfort the kid. It works but only for a second, before Tony opens his mouth to speak fluid Italian. Each word connecting to the next with a curl of his tongue, and of course, not only does Peter have physical attraction towards the man but also finds the way Tony speaks Italian crazily sexy. Peter feels like the world is doing this on purpose just to spite him.

He fixes a polite smile to the waiter when he leaves, but he doesn’t have to fake it the moment he catches Tony watching him. Peter feels exposed, under the heavy gaze of the billionaire from across the booth.

He almost feels unworthy of Tony’s attention. To even be in his presence is something he doubt he deserves. Although the hero worship is gone and only the feelings are left, Peter still feels undeserving of having Tony in his life. The man who revolutionised the world with his genius, the hero who put his life on the line countless times, the billionaire who puts so much into philanthropy. Peter is just… a kid, who only has his smarts and super powers going for him. A teenager who just so happens to catch the attention of the engineer. Peter can’t believe his luck sometimes. Maybe that Parker luck isn’t so bad, after all.

They’re both pulled out of the moment by a shadow looming over their table. They both look up to see a middle-aged man in front of their table, wearing a somewhat fancy suit and with a haircut that tells Peter he’s rich to get an expensive hair stylist but not rich enough to get a good one, who seems to be… leering at Peter?

Peter’s brows furrow, glancing to Tony who has a fixed grin to his face. “Here for an autograph?”

The man doesn’t react to Tony, presumably not understanding English, still staring at Peter, who suddenly has an urge to burrow into the seat. The teenager fidgets anxiously, fingers pulling on his jacket sleeve. Tony notices this and leans forward a little, so the man’s attention will move to him. At the sight of Tony’s arched brow, the man nods at Peter, “Quanto costa il ragazzo per una notte?”

Peter looks at Tony to gauge the context of what the man said. The genius has a flicker of confusion in his eyes for a second, before absolute _fury_ takes over his features, his eyes narrowed, rigid; gaze lethal as he stares at the man before them. His lips are tight, a tick working in his jaw, the pure emotion on the man’s face even affecting Peter. The switch is so sudden it sends Peter’s heart skyrocketing when he realises that the man said something to set Tony off like that. Tony leans in closer to the man, whipping off his aviators to see him more clearly. “Che cazzo hai detto?”

The man nods his head once more in Peter’s direction, staring at the teenager once more. “Sei il suo pappone, vero?”

Tony scoffs, eyes not straying from the man as he spits out his reply, “Lui non è in vendita.”

Peter feels fear crawling into body, cold when he evaluates the man. Peter is unsure if he’s a threat, because he hasn’t tried anything yet, but the way Tony reacted… He must’ve said something really bad to send Tony in rage so quickly like that. He wants to know what’s going on. He lets out a meek, “Mr. Stark?”

The second Tony flickers his gaze over to him, the burning animosity is gone, replaced with softness that is such a stark contrast to the anger a second ago. Tony glimpses at him with an apologetic look, which makes Peter confused for a second. His confusion does not vanish when Tony says, “It’s okay, Pete. Just play along, alright?”

Peter wants to ask what’s going on but he’s stunned to silence when Tony slides over to his side, flushed from shoulder to hip, his arm stretching around Peter while the other pushes away the jacket from Peter’s lap to land on the teenager’s thigh, all in clear view of the man. The man purses his lips, a look of irritation on his face.

 

_What the fuck?_

 

Peter is shaking, looking between the two men who seem to be having an intense stare down, silence stretching over a good moment or two. Deciding to play along like Tony told him to do, he places his own hand over Tony’s, leaning into his embrace, trying to find comfort in his warmth despite the tense situation unfolding. Tony probably understands what his thought process is, because he leans in as well so his chest is pressed into Peter’s arm, tightening his hold around his waist. Peter can feel the warm breaths fan behind his ear, sending several shivers down his spine, as Tony hisses, “Lui è il _mio_.”

The man puffs out a breath, a tone of disappointment in his voice he says, “Vergogna. Avresti molti clienti. Il ragazzo è grazioso.”

The man stays for a moment, eyes going over Peter once more. The kid grimaces. _So that’s how women feel like. Hmm, I should stop men doing that on the street more often. Doesn’t feel great being sexually objectified._

Tony actually _growls_ , like a protective wolf watching over a prized possession. He doesn’t stop staring down the man, glaring until he finally leaves their sights. The second he’s gone, Tony takes his hand off of Peter’s thigh and turns to him in concern. Peter is both relieved and disappointed.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. Pete, are you okay?” Tony moves his hand from his waist to his shoulder, rubbing his arm in what he hopes is in comfort. Peter goes lax, revelling in the warmth despite how Tony shifts to give Peter some personal space. He doesn’t try to fix a smile, glancing to where the man once stood before, swallowing hard before meeting Tony’s gaze again, “What just happened?”

The steel in Tony’s face is unexpected. “The guy was being a creep. I had to do something to get him away, otherwise he wouldn’t stop.”

Peter nods once. Tony purses his lips and is about to scooch further away, hand sliding away from Peter’s shoulder. It seems like Peter’s Spider-sense kicked in, because the moment becomes slow, letting Peter decide what he’s going to do. Even with all the thoughts that scream _No, don’t do that, you’ll be a creep_ , Peter just wants to take advantage of this chance, screw all his morals, so he leans further into Tony, gripping onto his forearm. The man freezes, staring into Peter’s wide brown eyes.

“Don’t,” Peter breathes out, eyes searching Tony’s. He only notices then that he’s still shaking but he’s unsure if its because of the adrenaline from a second ago or because of the effect Tony has on him. The genius blinks, seeing something in Peter’s eyes that changes his mind, and wraps his hand back around Peter’s shoulder, sliding closer to him again. He nods, “Okay, Pete.”

Peter lets out a shuddering breath, relaxing against Tony’s warm side. They don’t break their eye contact for a few more moments, only until Peter averts his gaze, because of the constant feeling of Tony sliding his thumb on his shoulder, somehow feeling it through the pink jacket.

He swallows hard, giving a grateful look to the older man. Tony gives a comforting smile, rubbing Peter’s shoulder again, in a _paternal_ way.

 

Yeah. Peter’s going to hell.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed that cause I was really trying to keep Tony's POV away from this, and stay mainly on Peter. Also, I'm not gonna put the translation of the conversation because this is technically supposed to be from Peter's perspective. You guys are free to Google it. Also, I apologise if there's any grammatical errors in the Italian. 
> 
> Here's my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/noncommited-writer) again. Say hi and that you're from AO3!!! ❤️
> 
> Thanks for reading and keeping up with the story again, I love all of your support and comments❤️


	7. Say it's us, and I'll agree, baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter calls Ned.
> 
> Stuff goes down at dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter ended up way longer than I expected. Around 6.5k words. I didn't think it would.
> 
> And honestly, the second part of the fic was kind of a drag to write, in the restaurant. But here you go. (Lowkey started losing excitement for this chapter as it goes on) 
> 
> This is the first time there will be sexual content, but it's nothing too graphic. 
> 
> Also, Trigger Warning for mentions of past sexual trauma/sexual harassment. It won't be explored in this chapter, but it will in the next one.

 

The lunch goes without a hitch, despite that weird, minor hiccup with that stranger. He and Tony spend the next hour sitting right next to each other because Peter can’t seem to force himself to not want Tony in his personal space. He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help it. Tony is… what he’d call an intoxicating presence, something to be easily captivated by and addicted to. Tony can hold attention spans of crowds longer than Peter can hold a proper conversation; the man’s a magnetic enigma.

Besides, it’s not like Tony minds it—or he does and he’s really good at hiding how bothered he is by being close to Peter—because he acts normal, talks normal. Although, it did take a couple of minutes for Tony to fully cool down after that man left their table. Peter isn’t able to get the full explanation from Tony of what went down, and maybe he doesn’t actually want to know. He knows it was about him, but he thinks it may be better off for him to stay ignorant about what made Tony seethe like that.

They chatter about the normal stuff, about the clothes he got, about the clothes Tony is planning to get him, about his webshooters. It’s so… normal. As if Tony wasn’t ready to take his gauntlet out and blow off the guy’s head twenty minutes ago. But he wants to know. He can't get it out of his head. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yes, Pete?”

Peter plays with his fork for a moment, suddenly finding it more interesting than looking into Tony’s eyes.

“Why… why did you become so… angry?”

Tony doesn’t respond for a few moments.

“The guy was being a real creep. He was asking some very inappropriate questions about you that made me pissed.” Peter lifts his head. He takes in Tony’s guarded expression, and decides not to ask what the man specifically said.

“Listen, Peter, this place isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. There’s people here who are somehow worse than the usual creeps you meet on the streets of New York. Trust me, I’d know.” Tony’s eyes becomes haunted for a split second before that look vanishes.

“I don’t like seeing men like that around, and it… set me off. To see them treat you like that. It’s disgusting.”

Peter slowly nods, strand of hair falling on his forehead. Tony reaches out to slick it back without thinking, and continues on with the conversation, despite the catatonic state of Peter.

“Just in case, I don’t want you talking to strangers here. I know that makes me sounds like a helicopter parent but… just to be safe, yeah? Promise me that, kid.”

Peter nods again. Peter pushes away the urge to question even more. He didn’t know that Tony can be so protective, but he guesses that just comes along with the superhero life; the life where everyone you’re close to becomes a target.

He shakes the thoughts away and move onto another, more light-hearted, topic. Along the way, they find themselves in a riveting conversation of Tony’s MIT days.

“You were my age when you graduated MIT? Holy crap, I know that was true but to actually hear it from you is mind-blowing. That’s amazing!” Peter is all of bright smiles and awe at his mentor, a thought of ‘he’s as gorgeous as he is smart’ flitting by his brain, which quickly halts when he hears Tony laugh. He stops himself from physically melting on the spot. _Nevermind, he’s as precious as he is smart and gorgeous_.

“Hey, you’re not so far behind, kid. I know that you’re smart enough to calculate trajectories in milliseconds. That’s how you’re able to swing around like Tarzan. That’s still amazing,” Tony shoves a forkful of his ravioli into his mouth, taking sip of red wine right after. Peter flushes at the praise. He is fully convinced Tony has no idea how much his presence has an effect on him.

In order to drown out some of his timidness, he gulps down his apple juice quickly and averts his gaze, hoping that’s enough to steer away from the topic.

“Not only that, you created your web and webshooters and that’s, in my book, fantastic. For a material that was made from school chemicals, it has incredible tensile strength.” Peter blinks. Apparently not.

“Well, you helped me improve the formula in countless ways. _And_ you made me a suit with over five hundred web combinations!” Peter sits up in his seat, an image of chirpiness that only he can manage without looking like a child. Tony leans back into his seat, bowing his neck to meet Peter’s gaze. “Even if I’ve never met any other seventeen year old, I doubt anyone your age can replicate your unique design of your webshooters and come up with the original formula for your web. And I think you’re the only one in the world who can pull off the actual puppy look, kid.”

Peter splutters at that, turning redder at the sight of Tony’s proud smirk, that he wants to both slap and kiss away. He grumbles, sliding down into his seat with his arms crossed. “I do not look like a puppy.”

Tony stares at him seriously for one second, before he bursts out laughing in that high-pitched giggle that hits all of Peter’s good spots in his brain, and even he can’t fight off the smile. “You say that while pouting to yourself with eyes looking like the puppy someone left on the side of the road.”

“And you look like the person who left me on the road,” Peter grumbles once. Tony does that laugh again, cracking up.

“That’s harsh, mio cagnolino,” Tony can’t help saying in-between fits of giggles. Peter feels his blush rise up to the tips of his ears.

“What does that mean?” Tony looks at him with fond eyes, “It really means ‘puppy’ or more accurately, ‘doggie’.”

Peter straightens up in his seat, “I do _not_ look like a puppy!”

Tony grins, “Even looks like you’re doing little barks. I swear, kid, it’s adorable.”

Peter finds the strength within himself to not outwardly react, just snorts and rolls his eyes. He huffs and puts more spaghetti onto his fork, “Whatever. I’m not going to fall for the bait, _bully_.”

Tony gasps, “How dare you? I swear I’ve treated you with nothing but the utmost respect, _mio cagnolino_.”

Peter groans, screwing his eyes tight as he ignores Tony’s infectious laughter.

 

* * *

 

 

They head back to their hotel, more content with spending the rest of their day as downtime. Peter is grateful for the freedom, he isn’t quite sure if he can hold his own with Tony around 24/7.

By the time he enters his empty hotel room, Peter goes lax, letting out a heavy sigh. It’s not that he’s tired of being around Tony—he can never be—it’s just that his brain is always so preoccupied by the man that sometimes he can’t hear his own thoughts. To be in a quiet room, by himself, is nearly relieving.

He chucks his Gucci sneakers off—which Tony bought him this morning—and slides off the pink jacket, sweeping a hand down the cloth with a small grin, and puts it on the coat hook. He walks over to the King-sized bed and jumps onto it, taking a moment to appreciate the coolness and softness of the sheets, then takes out his phone. He unlocks it and his finger hovers his texting app. 15 Unread Messages.

Nine messages from Ned, two from Michelle and four from Aunt May. He opens the chat with Aunt May first. It’s her wishing him a safe flight and the last text—which is from the night before—is asking him how’s the trip. He furrows his brows. He sends a text saying that he’s fine and he’s having a blast, the last one asking if she knew about the trip.

He opens up Ned’s chat and can’t stop the smile from taking over his face. The texts are of Ned gushing about the Robotic Kit he received and the rudimentary hacking programme Tony set up for him. He got Tony to give Ned stuff he likes just because he knew Ned was having a bad week. He’s glad that Tony’s generosity even extends to his friends—or rather, friend.

He shoots off a text asking if Ned wants to have a call, because Peter does miss talking to his best friend, even if it’s hasn’t even been more than two days since he last saw him.

The ones are from Michelle.

 

**_Hey dork, you remember the homework Mr Johnson gave us?_ **

 

The next text comes after twelve hours.

 

**_Are you with your sugar daddy?_ **

 

Peter goes red, and types back the content of their homework, ignoring the second text. He doesn’t have to even take a second to guess who she’s talking about. After all, she’s in on the whole ‘Stark Internship being Spider-Man’ thing.

Not even a moment later, his phone is ringing with that familiar yodelling ringtone, Ned’s face showing up on his screen. Tapping answer, he brings the phone up to his ear with a grin. “Hey, Ned! How are you?”

“Dude, I’m doing great. I’m having so much fun with the robotic kit Mr. Stark sent me. Did you know that it comes with the option to reset its coding and redo the whole thing? It’s amazing!” Peter chuckles, running a hand over the soft sheets and resists the urge to melt into the bed. Can’t have him falling asleep on a call with Ned.

“So I was thinking, maybe you can come over tomorrow to check it out?” Ned asks. Peter gives a long drawn out ‘uh’.

“I don’t think I can, Ned. See, here’s the thing—” Peter rolls over to his side, getting off the bed to walk over to the glass wall. “—I’m in Italy.”

It’s silence over the other end for a couple of moments, before a loud crackle goes through—making Peter grimace at the ringing that caused in his ear—and hears Ned’s soft, “Italy?”

The disbelief in his tone is enough to make Peter smile wider. “How—When—Why—Okay, I know the how; Mr. Stark brought you there.”

Peter bites his tongue, keeping in his chortle. “When—But we just ended school like the other day. How did you get there so fast?”

“Mr. Stark’s private jet! Dude, it’s so much faster than a commercial plane, we were here in only like, four hours! It turned out to be a surprise. Mr. Stark thought I should travel to Europe because I’ve only gone to Germany and it wasn’t even for holiday.”

He can practically see Ned’s look of astonishment just from the silence. “You are so lucky.”

Peter slides open the curtains to see his reflection in the glass, Tony’s face flitting across his head. He smiles despite himself and says, “Yeah, I am.”

“But are you okay?” Ned asks after a moment, concern lining his voice. The grin on his face flickers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you okay with this? With spending this much time with Mr. Stark? Wait, how long are you staying in Italy?”

“A week.” He purses his lips, already knowing why Ned is asking him.

“Yeah, spending a week alone with Mr. Stark. Do you think that’s really a good idea?” Peter gets where he’s coming from. Ned knows about his infatuation for the man—is it pretty hard to hide it from his best friend, who even knows about his secret identity—and as his best friend, he took it upon himself to concern himself with Peter’s love life if anything goes wrong. Especially in this weird case where the man he’s crushing on is three times his age. That changes things, even if he’s already the legal age of consent in New York.

All three of them—him, Ned and Michelle—do logically know that nothing romantically related would come to fruition from their mentor-mentee relationship, so by their logic, it’s fine for Peter to flirt and play around, hence why both his friends even joke and talk about it. But only Ned is aware of the ramifications on Peter when he spends a lot of time with the one person he can’t have—he’s the only one who notices the sad look in his eyes when the three have a lengthy conversation about the man. The flirting may not affect Tony, but it does affect Peter. Ned knows how much Peter is into the genius, so it’s easy for the worry to settle in.

“Peter?” It’s only then he realises it’s been a couple of moments since he last answered.

“Uh, I’m–I’m here,” Peter breathes out.

Ned sighs, as if knowing what’s going through his friend’s head. Peter wouldn’t be surprised; they’ve known each other for most of their lives, they practically can read each others’ minds.

“I just think you’re kind of out of your element over there.”

Peter chuckles, “More than you think, Ned. Every time he buys me something, I still try to get him to stop, but at this point he knows all my weaknesses. He buys me cashmere sweaters and Legos, Ned! _Who can resist cashmere sweaters and giant Lego models?_ ”

Ned laughs, and not for the first time, Peter wonders how glad he is for having someone like Ned for a best friend.

“But there was this one moment earlier, though,” Peter is mumbling, voice uncertain and confused. Ned hums, curiosity edging out. “In lunch, there was this one guy who came up to us and asked something about me in Italian. And Mr. Stark understood him.”

“And?” Peter kicks his lips, “And Mr. Stark got mad. Like, _so_ _mad_. He looked like he wanted to punch the guy or blow his head off.”

“Did he tell you why?” Peter shakes his head, but realises Ned can’t see him. “No, he didn’t. He actually didn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t ask—” Ned makes a contemplative sound. “and Ned, that’s not even the weirdest part.”

“Oh? Please tell me cause the suspense is killing me and I love hearing stories about you and Mr. Stark. Like my own version of YouTube tea.” Peter laughs, some of the tension leaking out of his body.

“He got… protective.” Peter bites his lip.

“Protective? Like how?”

“Like… _super_ protective. He moved closer to me and—I don’t know, I guess—hugged me? Like he out an arm around me and basically growled like a wolf watching over her pup. It was weird.”

 

 _And incredibly hot_.

 

Peter swallows hard.

“Wow. And the guy went away?”

“Mmhmm. Mr. Stark said he was being a creep and that the guy wouldn’t back off unless he did something.”

“Hmm, did he do anything else?”

Peter doesn’t think he can tell Ned about Tony putting his hand on his thigh to make the guy back off.

“No. Everything went back to normal after that.”

 _Or_ how he basically forced Tony to keep holding him.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He can still smell the tangerines and Tony’s cologne on him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t think about it too much, Peter. Maybe Mr. Stark is just the protective type. Remember how he took the suit away from you so you wouldn’t get into anymore trouble?” Ned’s tone is light, but Peter’s thoughts are anything but. They’re still whirling, laden with both agitation and vulgarity—from what he feels just from Tony’s light touches.

“Yeah, maybe.” Peter’s throat is closed up, eyes going hazy. Tony’s touch was intoxicating, distracting, tantalising and delicious in every way. It made Peter’s heart race and head rise to the clouds. It made his breath heavy with want and make him want to throw all caution to the wind.

Tony’s touch is… dangerous.

It’s dangerous to Peter. Exposed to too much, and he goes to the brink of his holding his self-control around the man. It’s a hard game to play with him. If Peter is unwary, Tony comes in with his heady personality and enthralling presence. And Peter is enraptured, unable to pull away, no matter how hard he tries. The man makes Peter want to risk everything just to have another touch; makes Peter want to drown himself in _him_ , his _scent_ , his _voice_ , his _mind_.

It’s almost pathetic, he thinks.

“Anyway, want to tell me how the rest of the trip went? What was the plane like?”

Peter blinks. And he slowly grins. Ned knows he was losing himself in his thoughts again. Peter doubts he’ll change his train of thought for a while, how lucky he is to have Ned in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

They talk for a couple more hours and once they cut the call, Peter easily finds himself bored again and proceeds to flip through the television channels. After some incredibly strange shows (He stumbled upon a porn channel somehow), he tosses the remote to the side. He decides to spend the rest of the next hour in the bathtub, nearly drowning when he falls asleep in the warm, aromatic water.

_How does anyone spend this much time alone in a hotel room?_

Peter is lounging on bed in his fluffy bathrobe, bones gooey and skin supple from the relaxing—and almost deadly—bath, when he gets a text. His screen lights up, a light buzz vibrating the sheets. He slides his screen open.

 

_Dinner in an hour. Meet me in the lobby._

 

It’s from Tony.

 

Tony.

 

_Mr. Stark._

 

It’s easy for his thoughts to get lost, lazy meandering through the haze of looseness he feels from the bath. They drift in his brain, replaying moments and painting pictures of their interactions from the past two days. Filtering through the haze, are memories of the two years with him. Dangerous missions with the selfless hero, gifts from the generous billionaire, tinkering in his amazing lab with the engineer, late night discussions that last even past the first rays of sun with the genius, sweet praise from the paternal mentor, harmless comments from the charming playboy. It all flits by in his head like a broken recorder playing his favourite album. Everything of the man who changed his life with a simple visit and a promise to fight Captain America.

Of the man who has probably spent more than a million on him at this point, the man who has a big heart and endless generosity, who has wriggled into Peter’s life on a random day and turned in upside in all the best ways, who has no idea that the teenager has these urges for the man, who is clueless of how his smallest touch can drive Peter crazy, who just asked him to dinner, filling up Peter’s blood with that familiar rush of attraction.

It’s warm, curling in his stomach and spreading across his body, like the water from the bath, except Peter never wants to get out of it—the want, the _desire_ —he wants to take it and envelope himself like a blanket. Stemming from the memory of Tony’s touches replaying in his head, soft and _innocent_ , warm and _protective_ , safe and _paternal_ —it’s wrong, and it leaves a trail of shame in it’s wake—and it feels like he’s using Tony without his consent. It’s almost unfair, how he wants to use the shadow of a past moment of Tony for his pleasure, he thinks, when his fingers trail down his chest, pushing the stark white robe away from his flushed skin.

They linger over his heart, grazing the skin and not having to lay his hand to know it’s thumping hard. He swallows hard, hand skirting lower, finding evidence his body is still reacting—despite the shame he feels.

Tony is funny, smart, so selfless that sometimes Peter is afraid he’ll tear himself apart at the seams for other people—which he now knows that he’s a part of that list—and gorgeous. The man is nearing fifty and he’s still desirable in every physical way possible.

It is impossible for Tony to even have a lick of a thought of Peter—the way he does—but he can dream. Reality is different from imagination—it's disappointing, that's what reality is—he’s able to put his inappropriate thoughts to life. Because he can’t have what he wants, even if it’s so close to him, so he uses daydreams to satiate the want— _the need_ —for the engineer.

He may not be able to get more than a hug in reality, but he can imagine—the way he wants to—kissing Tony, pressing his thin lips against Tony’s experienced ones, holding him close until the sun comes up, going past those colourful shirts and suits and kissing every dip and curve, running his hands over the scarred skin and taut muscles (he’s seen him work in a tank top in the workshop before), touching and mapping Tony’s face and chest and arms and hands— _everywhere_ —like he’s something to be treasured.

With each passing moment, his arousal grows and his shame turns to smoke, evaporating away without a second thought. His fingers touch where his skin and his underwear meet, and he slowly slips underneath, feeling the air getting warmer with anticipation. The movement is hesitant; he wants to take his time.

Will Tony take his time? Will he spend every moment to savour touching Peter with his gentle, calloused hands? Or will he be ravenous, greedy and raw? Taking Peter as he is and devouring him as fast as he can, never sparing a moment to get what he wants? Will he be soft, all curves and sweet? Or will he be harsh, restless and demanding? All these choices make him spare more than a moment lingering on the images it creates in his head.

He breathes out shakily, wrapping a slender hand around himself. The spike of dormant pleasure intermingles with the phantom presence of Tony’s burning touch, unforgettable scent and beautiful face and Peter bites his lip hard. He doesn’t know thick these walls are and the man he’s thinking of is right over the next room.

Tony is the type to be dominant, taking over with his confident, powerful self, asking for the impossible from him and Peter will willingly give it, there’s no doubt in his mind that he wants to. Because Tony’s touch is addictive, searing and settling itself into Peter’s memory and he wants all of it.

Peter will give it his everything. He’s never had any prior experience—due to the lack of suitors and just generally being busy all the time—but he thinks he can make up for it with his eagerness. No, he _knows_ he can. Peter is a vibrating bundle of pent up teenage sexual frustration, wrapped up with a bow of his attraction towards the man. Peter will give it his _everything_.

He’s never given a blowjob, but he likes to make up the fantasy for himself. Hot, slick and heavy on his tongue, Peter wants to see Tony shake, shiver and _growl_ with need—the same way he did in that restaurant (Peter knew that sound would bite him back in the ass later)—as he takes him in, trying his best even if Tony’s too much for him. He wants to taste him, envelope him, keep all the gorgeous views to himself when Tony finishes in his mouth. He imagines those dark, umber brown eyes, heady with insatiable hunger looking down at him as Tony cards his thick fingers through his sweaty hair, giving him those honey-coated words. Tony has always been great with his mouth, words tumbling out at lightning speed yet holding so much meaning with every syllable. He wants the affection, the praise; he wants the _validation_ from Tony as he coos to him how good he is, how great he looks like this—voice sounding the same sly way it does when he comments on Peter’s clothes that he buys with his own money—in that tone that melts him in all the good ways.

 

_Jesus, kid, you look incredible like this. Lips around my cock like that. You have no idea what I want to do with you, mio cagnolino._

 

Shockwaves of pleasure rocks his body, and he has to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his groan. Peter is tumbling, going over the edge—off a mountain—falling and falling until he lands in a pool of contentment, warm and soothing as it envelopes him with—

 

_Yes, come for me. So good for me, aren’t you, Peter? So beautiful._

 

His eyes fly open, meeting the white ceiling of the room, air now cold and body still buzzing with the afterglow of his orgasm. Sticky and still floating on the high, he laughs to himself. His brain quickly goes back into gear. He just jacked off to the thought of the man who is a few feet away from him. Peter doesn’t mind that his life has gone to this, but he does feel bad for using Tony in his brain like that, the gentle burning embers of shame lighting up in his chest.

He gingerly rolls on his side, taking off his bathrobe and slides off his underwear. He might as well take a shower. He has time.

Peter creeps into the shower, turning on the water to a gentle warm temperature that makes him want to melt to the ground. He’s relaxed, his bones are loose and he’s still on a high. Peter wonders how can he feel any better than this.

That’s the moment his brain supplies him more images of Tony. But not like the last ones. These are more… of reality than the fantasy Peter’s mind painted. They are of Tony’s face, eyes bright with intelligence yet heavy with guilt, his breath-taking smile, eyes crinkling at the edges to show the lines of age that just seem to make him all the more gorgeous and that voice that vibrates with tenor, shaking Peter’s body to the core with shivers. The suits that Tony seems to be doing more of a favour for them than they do him, the added height from his shoe lifts that when removed, make Tony look like the small, precious thing he really is. It makes Peter’s heart clench _painfully_.

This is why Ned is worried. Thinking about Tony, even a stray thought, can lead Peter to ache over what he can never have, no matter how much he wishes.

He sighs, resting his head on the marble wall, letting the water rain down on him.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter finds himself waiting near the elevator in the lobby. Tony did say to wait for him there. He’s on his phone, foot tapping incessantly as he tries to connect to the hotel WiFi. Instead of moping over how he can’t scroll through Twitter, he just puts his phone back into his pocket to take a minute to look around.

The lobby is almost empty, which is surprising considering it’s nearly eight in the evening. He’s in the elevator area, which leads off to the four star hotel restaurant, straight across the counter. Once Peter actually took to his time to look at his surroundings, he realises how pretty the interior of this hotel is. It’s all mirror walls with gold lining, rich mahogany accent walls and marble floors. The chandeliers give the large lobby a golden glow; the place is welcoming yet classy. The marble floor gives way to beige carpets near the elevator area, with fancy tables and vases cases atop lining the corridor.

Tony really likes to outdo himself in choices for hotels.

The elevator in front of him dings, and he glimpses inside. Tony steps out, all in his simple black blazer but a different graphic tee (Peter is pretty sure he saw it from Walmart), black jeans and big sneakers. Once he reaches the man’s face, he notices that it twitches when they meet each others’ eyes.

Tony’s left hand is shaking and the look in his eyes reminds Peter of an incoming storm. He looks… angry. Irritation riding off of him in waves, Peter feels like he’s confronting a rumbling volcano, ready to erupt any second. Peter blinks, his hands clasping together in nervousness and to possibly make him look unintimidating to Tony.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s tone is soft and cautious, already catching on to Tony’s mood just by a simple once over.

“I’ll get a table. Wait here, kid,” Tony says gruffly, turning on his heel and heading into the restaurant without a second look.

What just happened? Did Peter miss something? Did something happen in his hotel room that he doesn’t know about? He knows Tony wouldn’t be mad for no reason at all, but he doesn’t want to pry.

He watches as Tony walks away; even his posture is tense. Whatever set him off, must’ve made a lasting impression. Maybe it was because of what happened in lunch?

Just when he decides to go after Tony, a hand lays over his shoulder. He resists the urge to grab the arm and toss the person over, and turns around. He meets the eyes of a vaguely familiar man and he’s attractive, older than Peter for sure; probably mid twenties due to his bigger stature and more defined features. His eyes are kind when he says, “Buonasera, come ti chiami?”

Peter takes a step back, letting the man’s hand fall to his side when he full turns around to face him. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”

The spark of interest and surprises flickers in his eyes, “You’re an American? Should’ve guessed. You are with Tony Stark.”

His accent isn’t strong, but the curl of his tongue and elongated vowels are there. His friendly dark green eyes and ebony hair puts Peter on the spot, feeling trapped by his gaze. He’s really attractive. Peter puts on a polite smile. “Uh, great, you speak English.”

The man sticks out a hand for a shake, which Peter reluctantly does, “I just wanted to introduce myself and say ‘hi’. I saw you this morning at the pool and I thought you were too pretty to miss a chance of getting your name.”

Peter’s doe eyes go wide, his cheeks quickly turning pink as he splutters over his words. He huffs in amusement, hand warm and big when it encases Peter’s. Is this man _hitting_ on him?

His eyes are almost fond as he takes in Peter’s bashful state. “Name’s Adriano. What’s yours?”

“P-Peter,” he says, still holding on to Adriano’s hand, which he quickly realises and lets go, an awkward chuckle escaping him. Adriano has an indulgent smile on his face, his hands slipping into his light jeans. The whole ensemble of his leather jacket makes Peter wonder if the man knows how good he looks in it. Because he does. He _really_ does.

“Are you having dinner here?” His tone is casual, gesturing to the high class restaurant behind Peter. The teenager nods, still dumbfounded that this older man took an interest towards to Peter. _Oh, you idiot, as if you don’t have the hots for a forty-eight year old man._

Peter gulps, pushing the thought of Tony away from his mind for now—he’s mad now anyways, Tony won’t miss him for a minute or two—gaze trained on the nice green eyes that are clearly attracted to him, as they do a slow once over that makes Peter’s ears heat up. He feels electricity in the air, the way he stares into Peter’s brown eyes makes his mind blank for a brief moment.

“Is… Do you have anyone?” he asks, leaning into Peter’s space, eyes looking down at him.

“Huh?” Peter mumbles, realising he spent more than a second to stare at the man’s plump lips. The chuckle that reverberates out of him is a shock to Peter’s system. It’s deep, gentle as he inches closer to the teenager for Peter to hear him. “I’d be surprised if you don’t have anyone, bello.”

Peter weakly grins, the face of his mentor flashing across his mind’s eye. _Tony has all of me, he just doesn’t know._

“I don’t.”

Adriano’s hand rises up, reluctant. He doesn’t touch Peter, but the promise of it is enough for a spark of curiosity to light up in the teenager. “That’s good. I may be very forward right now, but I want to have a cup of coffee with you, if that’s okay.”

Peter’s brows fly to his hairline.

 

_Don’t do this, you idiot. Tony is just right there._

 

“Really?”

 

The man nods and opens his mouth.

 

 _“Mr. Parker._ What do you think you’re doing?”

 

Peter spins and he comes eye to eye with _fire_.

The controlled rage in those furious eyes makes Peter’s heart jump to his throat. Tony’s arms are crossed, stance big and hard as he bores his gaze between Peter and Adriano. His index finger is tapping on his bicep, each beat a show of contained wrath. Tony’s lips are thin, jaw ticking as he gazes at Peter through hooded eyes.

Peter swallows hard, eyes wide. “I’m just—”

“Let’s have dinner, shall we, _Parker?_ ” Tony’s tone is harsh, enunciating Peter’s last name with coldness— _ice_ —that pricks at his heart painfully. He glances at Adriano with sheepishness. The man just shrugs and gently nudges his back. At that, Peter can hear Tony move closer.

“ _Non_ toccarlo,” Tony hisses.

Adriano flickers his gaze between the two of them before pursing his lips, and nodding. He steps away from Peter, hands in the air. Peter gives a weak wave before following Tony into the restaurant, leaving the man behind.

They don’t speak a single word on the way there. When Tony leads Peter to the table, he finally feels his throat open up, “Mr. Stark?”

The man doesn’t respond, just settling into his seat that’s across from Peter. Tony’s eyes flicker up to his, “Take a seat. We’ll order.”

“But—”

“And I don’t want a single word from your mouth, because once again, you did something I specifically told you _not to do_.” Tony’s eyes narrow to slits.

“But he was nice! And I don’t think—”

“What did I just say?” Tony is clenching his fists now, eyes hard as stone. Peter swallows his bubbling irritation, and slumps into his seat, brows sewn together in indignation.

The dinner is awkward. No conversation, no word spoken, not a peep of the same chemistry from their lunch earlier. Peter is even more confused by the end of the meal. He doesn’t get why Tony goes overboard with his helicopter parenting and why he was so aggressive to Adriano earlier. Peter knows it’s the same protective instinct that kicked in during lunch, and the same one that took Peter’s suit away, but he was already mad before he came down for dinner. Maybe the fact that Peter didn’t heed his warning just broke through his last wall of self-control for his anger.

He lost his appetite about half way through and he spends the rest of the time pushing food around, squinting hard at Tony. Literally half an hour ago, he was in absolute bliss over thinking about this man, and now he feels like his head will fall off from how much it’s spinning.

After Tony has finished his meal, (ignoring the look Tony gives Peter’s half full plate) he pays for dinner. They don’t say a word when they get up from the table, neither do they when they walk through the room, past other tables and to the elevators.

But the second they leave the crowd’s earshot and Tony has pressed a button for the elevator, Peter can’t stop himself.

“Mr. Stark, please—”

“Are you incapable of listening to me? What is your problem, Parker?” Tony tilts his head to face Peter, and for once in his life, Peter feels fear crawling in the deep depths in his mind because of Tony—not for what Tony might do, but what he will say (after all, Tony has always been great with his mouth)—and he squares his shoulders with false confidence to stare up at his mentor. Peter is unable to tear away his eyes from Tony’s intense, deep gaze, seeming to be digging deep into Peter’s psyche.

“There’s nothing that you did, it’s what you _didn’t_ do.” Tony looks away from him to stare the elevator door, allowing him to take a second to breathe. He chases after Tony into the elevator the second it opens, hoping to get some shred of sense in this situation.

“I just don’t get it. Why do you have to be so possessive—”

“Possessive? _Possessive?_ You think I’m doing this because I need you to be around me all the time? If anything I’m protecting you, Parker. But you have no thought for the other people around you, do you? You have to act like you can take everything yourself.” They’re facing each other now.

Peter’s mind flashes back to last night.

 

_Like I said, I’ve always wanted you to be better._

 

“I just don’t get it! You said that I can ask for help, but I didn’t need it! Adriano was nice and he wasn’t dangerous.” Peter takes a step.

“How would you know that? How would you know that he wasn’t planning on taking you in the middle of the night?” The door slides open with a ding and Tony rushes out.

“Mr. Stark, I just—I don’t know what did I do wrong. What did I do?” Peter pleads, trying to keep up with Tony’s fast paced walking.

“ _Cazzo madre di dio—fuck,”_ Tony hisses, slamming a hand into the wall with a loud bang, making Peter step back, eyes wide with caution. Tony spins around, the flair of his usual suavity replaced by that seething anger.

“Parker, you don’t—” Tony takes a sharp breath of air, eyes rolling with frustration, “—you don’t _do_ that. You can’t.”

“You listen to me, you go around parading like you’re some sort of thing to be taken, and people will _pounce_. They don’t care that you’re young. They are ruthless, disgusting people and I suggest you stop acting it’s a simple game that doesn’t gamble your life.”

Something snaps in Peter, unbidden growing frustration building up in his chest.

“Why are you just so damn _controlling_?!” He’s practically yelling now, the heavy emotion simmering under his skin. But it dies the second those blood-chilling words leave Tony’s mouth, the world stopping for one terrifying moment.

_“Because it happened to me.”_

 

Peter stops. He stops. And he _sees_ Tony.

 

The heart-wrenching look in his eye. _Oh god_. The way his eyes seem to communicate a thousand words, wide and unrelenting in telling his emotions. It makes sense now.

 

Peter wants nothing more to pick Tony up and cradle him to his chest because in this moment, Peter knows they both need it. But he can’t. He _can’t_.

 

So he just stares. Stares until the vulnerable look is hidden away by the guarded up walls again.

 

He stares until the man slowly backs up, walks further into the corridor to get to his room.

 

Tony doesn’t look back once even after he enters his room, leaving Peter standing the middle of the cold hallway, heart in his stomach and tears in his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. Because this was a pain to write so that the story will progress to the better parts.
> 
> Also, the whole 'sexual trauma' that Tony is referenced having is based on the Iron Man deleted scenes, where he's bringing like 3 girls for sex and he actually confesses he's never been comfortable with being a playboy (You can check it out [here](https://youtu.be/YvaQFo_sDy8)) 
> 
> I am also thinking of taking a break on this fic just for a bit and writing my other fics that I really want to explore. (Aka my High School AU and Time Travel AU) 
> 
> Say hi on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/noncommited-writer)! We can discuss about my fics and gush about Tony! You can also get early snippets and maybe even tune in on my other fics being written.


	8. Tell me, baby, tell me, tell me, baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony reflects over his actions and Peter wants to apologise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!! Its been a while, huh?
> 
> First thing is, I loved writing this chapter. Love love loved it! I can't spoil much. I wrote up to like 5.9k words for this. Insane. 
> 
> If you guys are wondering when in the MCU timeline does this story happen, its like 2 years after Civil War and the Rogue Avengers are still trying to get pardoned. So it's 2018 but let's pretend that Peter is born in 2000 instead of 2001 because I just realised that his birthday is in August and that would technically mean he's still 16 and in this story he's 17 soooo... 😂 Kind of a timeline mess but hey, I didn't come here for realism. 
> 
> Oh, also, if you guys still didn't get what happened in the last two chapters (especially about the Italian), I explained it here. Because this is 90% in Tony's POV. 
> 
> Again, enjoy!  
> Ps, there's a bunch of fluff in here and it touches more of sexual trauma (aka Skip Westcott)

 

No matter how soft or cold the sheets are, they don’t provide any solace to the static mess that’s in Tony’s head. It’s a storm, dark with tainted memories and rained down upon by acidic thoughts. Tony sometimes thinks that if not for Howard for pushing a legacy into his hands that he didn’t even want, he’d been granted mercy for the normalcy in his life.

Tony also thinks that maybe he’s just a magnet for things like these. Over the years, his reputation has been one that’s grown out of proportion and stretched beyond believability and yet, people still eat up what those magazines give. The stories that contribute to his playboy image has an equal chance of being true and of being conjured up out of thin air, shackling chains on him until it’s impossible to shake the public’s view of him even years later. The stories that are true do end up becoming a ‘false narrative’, intended to add onto the discrepancy that Tony is anything but a lowlife playboy. Most of those stories don’t put in the fact that Tony never feels proud, never really feels truly comfortable with the fact men and women like to pile themselves onto him, convinced he’ll take them into his bed without a second look.

But he supposes that comes along with the ‘Stark fame’ package. People willing to degrade a real human just for money, and that also means crossing boundaries.

Countless times he’s had people throw themselves at his feet, with no regard to whether he actually wants it. They just assume they do, because of what they all hear and read about. Not to add on to the fact he’s also considered very attractive. As if that gives any right for them to do things to him without consent.

He guesses that’s why he flared up when that man at the bistro asked if Peter was for sale for the night. Tony hasn’t felt that much anger in so long (the last time is probably Siberia. Not even the argument about the ferry can compare to what he felt today.) and he could barely contain it. Because he knows Peter is so gorgeous and he doesn’t even know it. Because he knows he’s not the only sick fuck roaming this earth who wants the breath-taking beauty on their lap.

Same with what happened just a couple of hours ago. He saw an older man towering over Peter and he saw _red_. It didn’t help when he had a not-so-pleasant conversation just before he met up with Peter; he was already keyed up about the kid.

\---

_Tony puts his dry-cleaned pants into his suit case, folding it neatly. He has to remember to pack up everything for Florence in the morning. He taps on the side of his glasses, and it comes alive with a soft beep, “Fri, call Rhodes for me, will you?”_

_The tone rings for a few moments and Tony takes the time to bring the numerous shopping bags onto his bed, right next to the large suitcase._

_“Hey, sour patch, how’s the children?” He lays down the three new silk ties he bought right on top of his other shirts._

_“If you’re talking about Vision, he’s still sulking as usual. Didn’t think I’d ever seen a robot that sad before.” Tony puffs, rolling his eyes._

_“Then you’ve never seen DUM-E when I reject his smoothies?” Rhodey chuckles and Tony can hear the smile in his voice._

_“Okay, that’s true. It’s like seeing a kicked puppy,” Rhodey says. Tony picks up the Cartier watch—still unopened within its box—and shoves it into the corner, trying to squeeze it between his shoes and the wall of the suitcase._

_“He even whines like one,” Tony adds._

_“So, why’d you call?”_

_“There’s something going on with the delegates for the accords. They pestered Pepper and she was pissed enough to send me a very angry voicemail. Couldn’t really figure what she was trying to say through the screaming.” A laugh rings over the line._

_“I take it it’s not good news?”_

_“Not at all. They said I’ve been evading them just because I skipped a meeting yesterday.” Tony sits on the bed, bringing up the Cartier shopping bag to his lap. With gentle hands, he brings out the blue velvet box lined with gold, and snaps it open._

_“And you called me because?”_

_“I need a favour. For you to handle this and keep them off my ass until I get back.” He snaps the box close, a flicker of a smile going past his lips._

_“And you can’t do it?”_

_“I’m not exactly home, Rhodes. I’m in Italy.” He slides the box into his luggage, safe between the cushioning of his underwear and socks._

_“Italy? What for?” Tony hums, taking out his new black velvet blazer (the one Peter insisted on him getting, because it cuts just right) and folding it neatly._

_“Oh, you know, just a small vacation and to take the kid out for the summer. Just for a week.” There’s silence and nothing else, and Tony dreads what is going through his friend’s head._

_“Rhodes?” A sigh comes through his speaker, and Tony holds a breath, his hands stopping their movements._

_“The kid’s with you?”_

_“Yeaaaah?”_

_“Tony, don’t get me started on this, please.” Tony mentally prepares for the conversation, the same recurring one for the past few months. He bites his tongue and resists the incoming snappy retort._

_“You know how the kid looks at you and I’ve seen the way you look at him.”_

 

Well, that’s new.

 

_Rhodey only ever really talks about how he’s worried about Tony hurting himself in the process of getting closer to Peter, especially in terms of his self-destructive tendencies towards his interpersonal relationships. He quickly recovers from his surprise, though._

_“Peter does not look in any way at me. It’s just simple hero worship. Just like I had for ol’ cap before he burnt it to ash the first five minutes of meeting him. The kid’s just too good to let it go, that’s all.” Tony stops, realising what the second part of Rhodey’s sentence means, making him gape like a fish out of water. “—And what exactly is the way I look at him?”_

_“Like how you looked at Pepper.”_

 

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

 

_Tony gnashes on his teeth, already feeling the familiar tug of defensiveness when people bring up Peter in a conversation, specifically if it’s not in a good context._

_“You’re saying that I’m in love with the kid or—”_

_“Yes, Tony, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Tony blinks, his breath hitching. His hands drop the sleeves of his blazer and he slumps onto the bed. He brings up his hand to cover his face._

_“And what’s your point?”_

_There’s a contemplative pause. “That you should stop. That both of you will get hurt in the process if you keep getting closer. I don’t want to be that person who steps in like he had any business in doing so.”_

_“Exactly, you don’t have any business sticking your nose in this.” His tone is causal, but there’s an underlining tension in his voice._

_“But I’ve met him, and Tony, and I know he’s a good kid.” Tony pushes away the urge to spit out ‘Of fucking course he is. He’s more than good. He’s amazing.’_

_“He’s the type of person to do good and hurts himself in the process of protecting someone.” Tony swallows hard, and he can’t bring himself to disagree with the statement._

_“He’s like you, Tony. And you know how messy it becomes when you try to take the blame. If this all goes south, the kid will shoulder everything just because he doesn’t want to get you hurt.” Fuck. He’s right. But Tony is too emotionally compromised to do anything but go on the defensive. “And what’s the point of this talk? To get me to abandon him? Like his dad and uncle?”_

_“No, that’s not it.”_

_Another pregnant pause that tightens the knot of dread._

_“It’s so you can stop pretending to yourself protecting Peter is only paternal and nothing more.” Tony can feel the hot flush of embarrassment. “That it’s not for yourself either. Because I know you. I know you’ll stick around him, even if it kills you inside.”_

_Tony wants to throw his glasses at the wall._

_“And what am I supposed to do? If I admit that Peter means more to me?”_

_“To keep a distance and actually be the paternal figure he needs you to be.”_

_“The kid doesn’t see me as a father figure.”_

_Rhodey snorts and goes silent. Tony somehow gets the feeling that Rhodey knows more than he’s letting on. “Then be his friend. You and him need the space. It’s unhealthy to knowingly torture yourself by being around something you can’t have.”_

_“I just think that you’re in over your head in this, Rhodes. And I suggest maybe not spending so much time thinking over something that doesn’t involve you.” Tony stands up, watching his reflection in the mirror across his room, his hand shaking._

_“Tony—”_

_“Oops, call is breaking up. I’m in a tunnel.” He taps the side of his glasses. He’s gritting his teeth and his shoulders are tense. Casting a glance at the alarm clock, he breathes a low sigh when he realises it’s two minutes until he has to meet Peter downstairs._

\---

Of course, it doesn’t give Tony a free pass for letting the rage take over his senses when he sees an unfamiliar man—a man who’s bigger and older—looking down at Peter with that familiar glint in his eyes. The same glint he has when he himself stares at the kid. The only thing in his head is telling him to get the man away from Peter _protect him, keep him away, don’t let the man lay a dirty finger on him, non toccarlo, don’t touch him—_

Tony sits up on his bed, the fuzzy image of Peter burned behind his eyelids. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and what’s left of his dignity. After that whole show earlier after dinner, he doubts he can face Peter tomorrow without feeling awkward. He knows the kid will act the same, he can be a stuttering mess even when nothing is out of place. So Tony can only imagine what the teenager—oh god, what if he’s angsty—will behave around him tomorrow. He’s preparing for the worst.

In the meantime of his mulling, he might as well take a shower and try to relax; he did tell Rhodey it’s a vacation. And it’s probably the only one he’ll get for a long time once the UN has a hold of him after he gets back.

The shower is longer than any shower should have any right being. He takes his time, to scrub away the dead skin and at least make some of the shame evaporate. The latter didn’t work so well.

He steps out of the shower, steam following his flushed tanned body. He feels bone-tired, exhausted yet not mentally relaxed. He already knows he’s in for a night of restless sleep and worse dark circles under his eyes. He’s in his pajama cotton pants, and as much as he would like to let his mind float away, he doubts that could happen even if he’s laying in the comfiest bed ever made.

He’s about to slide into his covers when—

_Tap, tap, tap._

His head whips up, and he meets the eyes of a frazzled teenager knocking helplessly at the glass sliding door leading to the balcony. _Did the kid jump over to my balcony?_

Tony just blinks.

“Please, can I come in?” Tony knows that he shouldn’t. Rhodey’s words repeat in his head like a record player.

“Mr. Stark, please.” Tony looks down and watches as his hands let go of the blanket. He walks over to the glass, staring at Peter intently, “Okay.”

Tony unlocks the door and slides open the glass, still staring at the kid. Peter breathes out a, “Thank you.”

Once Peter is in, Tony slides it back closed. The kid’s back is towards him, looking around the room as if he can’t actually believe Tony let him in. He turns around, his wide eyed expression surprises Tony; he looks like a mess. Tony folds his arms across his bare chest, finger tapping on his bicep. Peter does a once over, eyes flickering over Tony.

Peter takes a deep breath. “Mr. Stark I just wanted to say I know I messed up and that I shouldn’t have—”

 

_Wait, what?_

 

Tony raises his hands up. “No, Pete, it’s my fault. I completely overreacted and I wasn’t in the best mindset. It’s my fault.” Tony thought Peter was going to make him apologise, not give his own apology.

Peter shakes his head, taking a step towards him, “No, I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and I completely get where you’re coming from—”

“Peter, I was controlling—”

“No, you weren’t, you were just looking out for me and I get tha—”

“My reasons are selfish, I shouldn’t have—”

“Can you just let me finish?” Peter snaps.

Tony pauses, looking at Peter. The usual bright brown eyes now look determined as they bore into his. Tony purses his lips but nods. He feels awkward in his pajama pants and nothing else. He doesn’t even have a shirt on. But if Peter wants this conversation, the least Tony can do is to listen. (Especially if he’s still holding a bit of guilt over what happened at dinner.)

“When you got mad today, I get it. I really do. That I know you’ve been through some stuff and it’s changed the way you see things. Why you’re protective.” Tony scoffs. The self-deprecation easily shines through, “I think protective is an understatement.”

“No, it’s not.” Peter’s disagreement is vehement and annoying. Why can’t he see that Tony was the bad guy back there?

Peter’s hands start to fidget, one hand lightly punching his other palm, thinking. He looks around, to the modern sofa at the wall, then to the bed on the other side. “Mr. Stark, I have to say something. That will just prove to you that what you did was right—” he nods to the King-sized white bed, “—can I sit?”

Tony gives a nod of his own, and watches the kid stand there awkwardly, looking back at him. At the subtle glance to the bed, Tony realises with a fond roll of his eye that Peter is waiting for him to get on the bed first. He shuffles over, arms dropping to his sides. Once on the bed, he watches as the kid crawls over the mattress, settling down in front of him. Peter takes another look at Tony, at the room, then takes a deep breath.

“I was young, really young, around six or seven. Back then it was only a few months after my parents died.” Tony adjusts his position, so he’s fully facing Peter. “May and Ben were working double shifts to save for the new expenses, because of me. And because they had to work all the time, they both had to get me a babysitter.”

“His name was Skip Westcott and I—” Peter stops, throat closing up, a glaze going over his once bright eyes. A small crease forms between Tony’s brows, not going away even when Peter tries to shoot him a comforting smile. “He was nice. He took proper care of me, fed me, made sure I went to bed at night. But one day, he brought over some discs for me to see.”

Peter chokes on air, wetness gathering in his eyes. Tony just waits, ignoring the urge to reach out to Peter for now. “And told me that we were going to play a game, where we try to follow what’s showing on the screen.”

“He brought porn.” Tony’s heart stops.

The comforting smile is gone now. Just a shadow over his eyes as he looks down at his shaking hands. “I remember feeling so… terrified. And guilty after that, because it was supposed to be a game and I was supposed to have fun so why did I feel guilty? I—”

Choking on air once more, Tony can’t stop his hand from covering Peter’s, a firm grip around his hand. Peter doesn’t meet his eyes yet. “He came over two more times before I finally confessed to Ben and May.”

Peter’s fingers weakly tighten. “Skip was arrested but I’m sure he’s out now. I don’t ever think of this. Most of the time, I completely forgot this ever happened to me.”

Tony finally breathes, eyes going dark as he drinks in Peter’s miserable state. “Kid, I didn’t know.”

“Not many people do.”

It’s silent for a few moments. A soft sniffle comes from the kid and his shoulders shake. Tony doesn’t let the guilt chase him now, because he knows he won’t regret being there for Peter. “Kid, come here.”

Peter’s head rises. With his other hand, Tony beckons him over. He tries not to smile at how Peter seems to crawl over to him, moving into Tony’s lap as if he’s his only comfort. The hug is warm, and Peter isn’t holding back his super strength much when he curls around Tony. The man doesn’t do much other than hold him even tighter.

It’s everything that Tony can’t have. The warmth, the affection, the want for being protected and sheltered, the need for _Tony_. Only difference is it’s in a platonic way. Tony feels like he deserves to go to hell for wanting him, for lusting and loving a teenager much younger than the norm. But he doesn’t delve into the depths of his dark mind, focusing on comforting the kid until he stops crying; Tony has probably found his least favourite sound in the world, Peter crying.

“Like I said, you’re not alone. I’m—” He mumbles into Peter’s shoulder, and only then he realises that Peter’s been in his embrace for too long for it to be comfortable. He leans back, but doesn’t let go of Peter, “—I’m glad you’re able to open up about this to me.”

Tony sighs and, once again, resists the urge to card his fingers through Peter’s soft hair.

“I think it’s fair game if I share the reason why I blew up on you.” Tony slides his hands down Peter’s arms, and ignores how the kid shudders.

“On my twenty second birthday, I was drunk out of my mind, really just trying to forget the fact my parents died months before. Because now in my head, nothing and no one can stop me from doing what I want.” He breathes in, looking into Peter’s curious eyes.

“But it didn’t hit me yet nothing and no one can protect me from the bad things in the world.”

“Shitty things happen and we have to deal with it—” He shrugs, “—but this one instance in my life convinced me that bad things happen only if you let it. I mean, that’s the sole reason why I stopped my weapons division, but it isn’t the point.”

Peter nods, despite how Tony seems to be staring straight at him. Tony continues on, despite wanting to spend time just staring at Peter.

“Like I said, I was drunk. So out of it I wondered how I was able to even remember the whole thing the next day.”

A pregnant pause hangs between the both of them.

“This guy came up to me and as per normal, his eyes told me that he wants more than just a drink and a grope. Guy was much older, and much bigger than I was. He… really wanted me, in a simple sense.” Peter listens intently, gauging Tony’s micro expressions. “So I brought him, and two other women up to my penthouse. Four’s a party, right? One of the women passed out immediately when she hits the bed but the other and the guy were absolutely adamant on getting into my pants.”

Tony squints, looking away from Peter as though trying to dig up his memories. “I don’t remember what really triggered the change of heart in me, but I wanted out. I felt uncomfortable and didn’t want to spend another second in there.”

“I said so, and I was going to leave. But the man just pulled me under him, he was so strong, and—you know what he said to me?” He chuckles lifelessly. “That he was disappointed in my playboy lifestyle, that he thought the playboy title was more legitimate than my title of a genius.”

“I remember feeling disgusted and ashamed. I didn’t know what to do.” Peter purses his lips, and he tightens his hold on Tony’s hand.

“It was that moment I realised that my reputation as a playboy is something that can’t be erased, not for a long time. That it’s so ingrained into people’s brains they can’t see me for anything else than that. Even if it meant going against what I wanted, against my consent.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Well I held out for about half an hour before saying I had to go to the washroom. I dipped right after, didn’t care if I didn’t have any clothes on.” Tony and Peter stare at each other. It feels like layers of himself are being peeled away, stripped by the intense gaze of Peter. For someone who can do the best impression of a puppy, Peter’s eyes can be deep and almost profound—somewhat intimidating—when he wants them to be. A small bashful flush crawls up the back of Tony’s neck, and he looks down to their join hands.

“At least now you know the story of why I was running through the streets butt naked back in 1992.”

“Tony, I’m sorry.” It’s barely a whisper but Tony sees Peter moving and he automatically opens up his arms. This time, it’s him burrowing his head into Peter and it’s so easy to find comfort and feel protected by the kid. It’s a sweet gesture, Tony admits, and he may try to fool himself that Peter needs his parental instincts but at this moment, he wants—needs—Peter’s warmth. The kid isn’t shy with his open affection after all.

Tony backtracks, pauses, then snorts. “So, if bearing my soul out to you gets you to call me by my first name, I better do it more often.”

Peter chuckles, a delightful sound that curls around Tony’s heart. “Maybe you should, it’s a good look on you.”

“What, emotional vulnerability?”

“Mmhmm.” In other cases, Tony wouldn’t take a chance to reveal his inner demons in a million years. But for Peter, he can make an exception.

He pulls away (he grits his teeth at how he already misses Peter’s warmth) and looks over the kid once more. “That’s why I didn’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. I was alone, I didn’t have my mom to call and she was the only person I wanted to talk to about it.”

“Are you saying if I did do the same thing, I’d be alone too?” Tony’s brows raises and he almost feels offended by Peter’s assumption. 

“No, I’d never let that happen. You can always trust me to listen when you want to open up. I think why I blew up was because I’d never ever want you to feel the same sort of violation I did that day. And the other subsequent times.”

“Other times?” Tony waves a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t going to be the last time I bailed out of an orgy because I felt uncomfortable. Besides, that lifestyle is just terrible.” An exaggerated grimace forms on his face, and Peter smiles. “I indulged in it, obviously, but only because I was trying to drown out everything else going wrong with my life.”

He scooches forward, until his knees press into Peter’s. “What I’m saying is, people can have their own image of you in their head and sometimes, they use it for their own gratification. Specifically, in a sexual way.”

The furrowed brows is an adorable look on Peter, Tony notes. “Are you… are you saying that men actually think of me that way?”

“You never saw any of the looks you keep getting on the street?”

“I mean, I saw the ones at the pool but… I didn’t think that many of them actually…” Tony almost wants to laugh. The kid is gorgeous and he has no clue. He’s so good he isn’t even aware that he’s something men want to devour, with his Adonis-like body and sharp features yet soft, big, innocent eyes.

“But Adriano didn’t look at me like that.” Tony doesn’t say he saw that split second of desire sparking in those eyes when he ran his green eyes over Peter.

He winces, the way he snapped at Peter replaying in his head. “Yeah, now that I think about it, I was overreacting with the guy. I think I was more worried to see that the guy actually seemed genuinely interested.”

Peter quickly pipes up, “But Tony, if you think that I shouldn’t hang out with older men then—”

“No, no, no, kid. If…” Tony slumps, a hand coming up to rub his temples. “If that’s your thing, don’t let me stop you, okay? You can date whoever you want, whenever you want. It is legal now.”

Peter scoffs, eyes rolling. “That’s a little bit of a stretch. I doubt I can get anyone to date me, if I wanted a real relationship.”

There’s a pause in the air, and Peter looks up to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid.” Tony’s eyes are downcast, his lips in a weak smile. “You’re smart, pretty good-looking for your age, you’re the sweetest person I know and you’re quick as a whip. You can keep up with me. And tolerate me too. Not a lot of people can do that.”

Peter shakes his head, looking somewhat troubled at the self-deprecating comment Tony slipped in.

“I don’t tolerate you. I like being around you,” Peter says, shrugging a shoulder. Something in Tony softens, the crease between his brows going away. The older man sighs. “You can date whoever you want, kid. Older, younger—just as long as it’s legal—and me being protective shouldn’t change your mind in any way. Otherwise, that’s just textbook helicopter parenting.”

“How many times do I have to say I don’t look at you like a father?”

_Zero. Please never say it again. It just reminds me how wrong it is to not look at you like a son._

“As many times as I get overprotective over you, kid.”

Two enamoured smiles make it to their faces and Tony is struck once more by how beautiful Peter is. Not only that, but he’s always so taken aback by how pure, how good this teenager is. And knowing how sweet he is, how innocent he is, Tony wants nothing more than to protect him from the outside world. He’s driving Tony up the walls just by existing.

Peter’s eyes glance down. They stop at Tony’s chest, and suddenly he feels bared by Peter’s gaze as they take in the ugly scar on Tony’s skin.

“Is that? Is that where the arc reactor used to be?” For some inexplicable reason that Tony can’t possibly try to explain to himself, Peter reaches out with a timid hand with an almost childlike curiosity. He purses his lips when the soft pads of Peter’s fingers grace his skin.

“Yeah, scarred over pretty well but—” he stops, and he clears his throat. _His touch is so warm_. “—if I met Dr. Cho back when I did the surgery, it’d look less ‘Freddy Kruger’.”

Peter’s squint into slits, and Tony can feel him brushing the edge of his finger over the most prominent scar. A pink, angry line that cuts through the circular scar of his arc reactor; a scar that was made by Rogers.

“Don’t tell me what I think this is.”

“It is.”

“Bastard.” The spiteful whisper cuts through the air, and wedges itself into Tony’s heart, warming it with his affection for the kid. Peter continues his ministrations, a small sad curl on his lips as he almost lovingly stares.

They’ve talked about their first meeting before, about the Civil War debacle two years ago and what was going on behind the scenes. It was a late night in the lab, only about half a year before this very moment, when a curious prodding question from Peter nearly sent Tony into a full-fledged panic attack. Peter tried his best to bring him back to earth, but the concern in his brown eyes told Tony that he can’t keep skirting around his traumas around the kid. Tony eventually told him the bare necessities of what happened back in Siberia. But it painted a big enough picture for Peter for harbour a hatred that boils up to the surface whenever he sees a PSA in school.

It’s only now that Tony realises that he was already close enough to the kid to open up like that to him back then, because he never tells people about his worst moments, never wanted to share his feelings about certain hard topics. (Maybe only to Pepper and Rhodey but even then, both never really accepted Tony and his self-sacrificing traits with open arms and non-judgemental reminders for Tony to take care of himself like Peter did) He already opened up to Peter like this before—it’s so easy to—which is why it is possible those talks were already building up to the feelings that would inevitable screw him over later. And that ‘later’, is happening right now.

“It looks really cool, if I’m being honest.” Peter’s words are genuine, not an ounce of judgement or disgust in them. Tony isn’t surprised by that, because he knows the kid is too good for his own… good. He’s more surprised by how he seems so captivated by it, taken by how the scar looks on Tony and its origins. His curiosity is so endearing, just like everything about Peter is.

The light touches leave burning sensations afterwards, hot from Peter’s gentle caresses. It’s like his touch is a flame, feeling behind black soot as evidence of its presence. The way he breathes in Tony’s space, the way he leaves his trailing grazes on his warm skin, is so intimate. The way Peter just seems to accept him for all he is, all his sharp edges and ugliness inside, it makes Tony’s throat close up with emotion. The way a small smile graces Peter’s lips as if appreciating this. It’s warm, enveloping and soft in all the ways Peter Parker is. This moment is privy to their relationship, a scene that will only ever happen behind closed doors, a baring of two souls intertwined together. It’s breath-taking.

_And oh so wrong._

Tony swallows, but his mouth is made dry by the harsh reality this is something Rhodey warned him about. _Them getting close._

He can’t do this to Peter, no matter how much he wants him. He can’t trap Peter with his own mess, of his own life. He has to be there for Peter, but he can’t make it about himself, he has to put aside his own feelings to shelter and take care of the budding superhero. And so he does.

“Kid, it’s getting late. I think you should head to bed.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” And just like that, the moment breaks and he smiles despite the warring emotions. “No, Pete, you’re good.”

 

* * *

 

_No, Mr. Stark. I’m not at all good. I’m horrible._

 

The remorse floods him quickly, over how he keeps stealing those intimate moments he shouldn’t even have the right to share. He shouldn’t be touching Tony like this, shouldn’t be allowed to have thoughts of him like this, but he can’t help it. He can’t stop himself. Because he’s finally realised this one thing that he’s been blind to, all along. Why he takes all the opportunities to torture himself, despite it being the wrong thing.

 

He _needs_ Tony.

 

He not only wants him, but he needs him; in his life, caring for him, protecting him and giving him the affection and attention he can pretend is more than platonic. Because those hugs, they were something Peter never knew he needed so desperately until he got a taste for it. Peter can never turn back after basking in Tony Stark’s affection. And he feels terrible for it.

The man has no idea that Peter is using his love as a way to feed his secret desire for the genius, even when he knows Tony will never see him more than a mentee or a kid. It’s wrong, its immoral; he knows he should step away to give himself that space and at least _try_ to get over him, but Tony is the sun and Peter is the youth with impulses and wax wings. Tony is _irresistible_.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. For everything. For this conversation and for taking care of me especially.” The kind smile on the man makes Peter’s knees weak, and he’s not even standing. Tony pulls him in for another hug, one that’s more warm and enveloping and inviting—all the things that makes Peter’s chest crush with guilt over harbouring the wrong kind of affection.

When they pull away, all Peter wanted to keep within the embrace. For a second, his hand reaches out to Tony because he’s unable to fight the urge.

_Even if he does want you, I just feel like there’s a part of him that’s always going to feel responsible for you._

That’s what Ned said to him not even ten minutes ago, when Peter was burning a carpet into the floor from pacing, holding on tight to his phone despite how shaky his hand was.

He’s right. Peter knows he’s right. Nothing can ever come up between the two of them, because Tony is just like that. He’ll never be able to shake off the guilt because Tony sees Peter as his responsibility. He’ll always want to protect Peter, even if that means from Tony himself.

That’s why Peter pulls his hand away, blinking away the sudden tears, a shaky rueful grin on his face. The kind smile on the engineer just makes his heart twist even more.

“I’m gonna go. You’re okay with being alone?” Peter waits, hopeful. The way Tony pauses for a second, makes Peter’s heart jump, only to sadden when he shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine, kid. You go to bed. We have to get to Florence early in the morning.” Peter nods. He gets off the bed and walks to the window. With one last glance and a smile, he leaves the room, feeling Tony’s eyes on him until he leaps to his own balcony.

 

\-- --

 

They both sleep better than they could have ever expected.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey!!! So how was that chapter?  
> I had a lot of fun writing it and fleshing out their inner thoughts here, and besides, I missed writing Tony's POV. 
> 
> Tell me what'd you think and come say hi on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/noncommited-writer)! I'd appreciate it! I gush a lot about Tony Stark and Starker so come join ship!


	9. Jump in the Cadillac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony takes Peter to Florence, and thinks about his relationship with Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof  
> Hey, guys! It's been a long time.  
> Life had gotten in the way for a long ass time and I kept putting off his story, which I am sorry for because I do love writing this fic.  
> Now though, I have so much free time and I can finally put some focus into my hobby: writing.  
> So, thank you all if you are coming back, and hi to those who are just coming in. I love all of you <3

“Do you wash your legs in the shower?” 

Tony’s fork stops on the way to his mouth, his eyes blinking up at Peter.  

“What?” 

“I don’t know. There was a poll on Twitter whether people say they wash or don’t wash their legs in the shower.” Peter shrugs.  

The older man just stares at him before slowly chewing on his overly salted baked eggs and sausage. “Why wouldn’t people wash their legs in the shower?” 

“Because the soap runs down and it cleans their legs—wait, are you telling me you wash your legs in the shower?” 

“It’s a shower! It’s self-explanatory to clean all body parts that you’re attached to!” Tony exclaims, shaking his head at Peter. The teenager huffs. “But that’s just wasted soap!” 

“It’s just a few extra drops of soap. It’s like barely anything.” Peter ducks his head like an inconspicuous spy, and whispers with flinty eyes, “Rich snobs.” 

Tony nearly snorts into his coffee, fond smile playing on his lip, something warm curling in the pit of his stomach. A smile appears on Peter’s face, finding Tony’s amusement a little relieving. 

Tony lips slowly loses its mirth, eyes dragging over Peter. The kid seems fine—scarfing down his food like it’s the last thing he’ll do—and he hasn’t said anything about the night before. Usually Tony would appreciate deflecting issues hidden in the open air, but he doesn’t want that with Peter; Peter, who is so sweet and open and deserves more than what Tony can give him. He wants to have open communication with the kid, doesn’t want to have unspoken things between them. 

“Kid?” Peter hums, nodding his head. 

“Are you okay?” Peter looks up at him, a smile on his face. “Of course, I am, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony bites the inside of his cheek. “I mean, are you  _okay?”_  

Peter’s hand stops as he’s reaching his third bread roll, eyes searching his mentor’s. Something flashes within those brown eyes; there’s a split second of his eyes widening before he nods more seriously. 

“I really am, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s grin is back, but it’s softer. “It’s all fine. There’s nothing to worry about between the two of us.” 

Peter must have seen something vulnerable in Tony, because he leans over the table, his brown eyes glinting with concern. “Tony, I really am fine. Truly. There’s no hard feelings, no, uh, weird thing I have against you.” 

Peter beams, his hand twitching on the table as if he wants to reach out.  

Tension leaks out of Tony’s body, and he finds himself giving a strained smile back. He barely spares a moment to realise Peter said his first name. 

Peter tilts his head. “Are  _you_  okay?” 

Tony bites the inside of his cheek even harder, his temples subtly popping. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

Tony eventually shrugs. Peter loses his smile. “What’s wrong?” 

“I have no idea.” Actually, Tony does have some idea. He knows why he’s feeling a little more than perturbed by the previous night. And one look at Peter knows that the kid knows he knows what’s bothering him. Tony sighs and steels himself. 

“You know, I’m not exactly the best at... saying what I feel—” 

“That’s pretty obvious.” Peter holds back a smile, dipping his head meekly. 

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to do exactly that,” Tony quips, though not really finding Peter’s intrusion offensive.  

“I don’t really like being...” Tony holds his breath, as if physically incapable of saying the word. Peter only raises a brow. “—vulnerable.” 

At Peter’s slow nod, he continues, “It’s uncomfortable for me, but I think that the least I can do to you—or really to anyone in my life because god knows I’ve been a little more emotionally unavailable to a lot of peo—” 

“Mr. Stark, just spit it out.” 

“I want to be one hundred percent open and completely honest with you.” Peter stops. Tony is able to manage holding eye contact, despite the uncomfortable itch under his skin. 

“What happened last night was great—albeit a little too personal, let’s be honest.” Peter nods, a small wince flitting across his face. 

“And it’d would be—I dunno—good to have that often with you. A-And other people.” Tony tenses, awaiting Peter’s response. The last time Tony was this consistently transparent with his emotions was during the peak of his relationship with Pepper. It’s still as uncomfortable as he remembers. 

Peter unfreezes, finally letting Tony’s words process in his head. “That’s... really nice of you, Mr. Stark. It’s the same for me. That’d be awesome.” 

Tony can only grin now, his eyes going soft at Peter’s honesty. “Really?” 

 _Because I don’t think it’s a good idea, this already breaches multiple borders of a standard mentor-mentee relationship._  

Tony doesn’t let the harsh words of his guilty conscience spill out.  

“Yeah, really.” Peter’s smile still tugs at Tony’s heart. 

* * *

 A shiny leather shoe taps relentlessly against the carpet floor, Tony checking his watch as he huffs. Tony is the one who has a reputation for being fashionably late. It feels off-putting to be the one waiting for another. Standing outside Peter’s room makes him feel exposed, but he’s not supposed to leave the hotel without Peter by his side.  

They are flying to Florence (technically right now) to look at art and revel in its history. Tony specifically chose this location because he knows how excited Peter gets when it comes to places’ histories. It may not match up for his love for science, but it’s a close second.  

Tony rolls his eyes, hearing thuds and grumbling inside the room. Despite feeling miffed, he strides over to the door and raps his knuckle on the wood.  

“Pete, it’s Tony. Open up otherwise I’ll hack the door to unlock it myself.” 

Silence, then there’s shuffling inside. Next thing he knows, bright brown eyes greet him. “If this place was old enough and needed keys, you’d never be able to get in.”  

Tony squints, opening his mouth to rebuff the kid, but Peter quickly adds on, “I can’t find my jacket. The pink one you bought. Or my toothbrush.” 

Tony manoeuvres past him, shrugging with a ‘What can you do’ look. “Keep looking. It’s not like there’s a random black hole sucking up your stuff.” 

He hears the door shut behind him. Tony’s eyes scan the room as Peter rushes around to look for his missing items, and they stop at the three roses on the desk in the corner, placed in a small thin glass vase.  

“You kept the roses?” Tony asks, eyes not straying from the flowers as he walks towards the desk holding the vase. He hears Peter’s sheepish ‘Uh’ in the bathroom. He reaches out with his fingers, rubbing one of the petals between his thumb and index finger.  _Hmm, wilting already._  

He hears a rustle behind him and he turns around to see Peter in his pink jacket—looking as pretty as he did yesterday—with an expectant look on his face. Tony raises his brows and claps his hands together, “Ready to go?” 

Peter purses his lips, “But my toothb—” 

“We’ll buy one on the way. Besides, it’s probably too old and too dirty to still keep. How long have you had it?” Tony asks absentmindedly, watching Peter shut and zip his suitcase. Once done, Tony reaches over to hold him by his elbow, pulling him towards the door to rush. They’re already behind schedule for what Tony planned.  

“Uh, eight months?” 

“That’s it, I’m buying you a new one.” 

Peter snorts, letting himself get dragged along by his mentor. Once out, Tony takes his own luggage and starts striding down the hall. “If it were up to you, it’d be a best toothbrush money can buy.” 

“Well, why not? Toothbrushes are important. Dental care is important.” Tony presses on the elevator button.  

“I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation right now.” 

“Because you’re forgetful and somehow lost your toothbrush in your own room.” Tony side-eyes him, a flash of his pearly whites that makes Peter bite back his own smile. “It’s not my fault. These rooms are way too big. How much did they even cost?” 

The elevator dings and the two golden doors slide open. Tony shrugs. “I mean the owner of this hotel used to be an old buddy of mine from my boarding school.” 

“Ah, so another rich snob, huh?” Tony takes a moment to look at the kid, who just looks cheeky, and reaches over to ruffle his hair good-naturedly. Tony knows how much his own sarcasm can get under other people’s skin; he finds it hilarious that Peter can contain that much sass in his body, almost as much as Tony. 

They head up to the rooftop, where the same helicopter from the other day awaits them. They put their luggage in the back of the helicopter and hop in.  

Like an echo of the other day, Tony leans over Peter, helping him with his belt buckle. Tony feels his throat close up at the delicate scent of Peter filling his nostrils, and he has to shove away the fact his heart feels like it’s getting warmer. He’s too close to Peter right now. Thankfully, his hands aren’t shaking, so he quickly makes do of the belt, settling into his own seat.  

When they take off, Peter is leaning over to the windows to look down upon the city bathing in sunlight. It’s almost as gorgeous as it was when the city was bright with the night life. The blue of the sky that seems to stretch forever; sunlight streaming through clouds in light tufts.  

Tony would usually be admiring the view—he’d never get sick of it, even if he’s seen similar views when flying in his own suit—but he’s more distracted by the more breath-taking Bambi-eyed brunet right next to him. Like always, Peter still holds the world record for looking adorable without even trying, at least in Tony’s opinion.  

Tony hides his self-indulgent smile, taking in the awe on Peter’s face.  

“Mr. Stark, do you have any sunglasses? My senses are going haywire with all this sunlight,” Peter’s voice crackles over the com. Making a note in his head to buy Peter a pair of sunglasses, Tony whips out a pair of black aviators. Peter places them on the bridge of his nose, melting in his seat once his eyesight is soothed, colours and brightness dulled.  

The rest of the ride is idle chatter, inside jokes thrown in with a few jibes and concealed compliments. Tony decides this is probably his favourite way of spending time with his mentee. Tony would be lying through his teeth if he said he enjoyed his own company more than he does with Peter.  

“Did your friend like the kit I got?” Peter glances over to Tony. 

“Ned? Oh yeah, he loved it. He kept talking about how cool it was.” Peter has a teasing grin. “You know, if you really wanted to get my friends’ approval, I’m pretty sure there’s less subtle ways than buying them kits worth a hundred dollars.” 

“It was two hundred, actually.” The grin on his face widens, and Tony has an urge to make it go away. An image of placing a soft kiss to his lips to make it go away floats to the forefront of his thoughts. Tony internally winces. 

“And no, I’m not buying your friends’ approval.” Tony clears his throat. “Though, what would Michelle like? Some books?” 

Peter laugh, full of life. Tony smiles and tries his best to not lose control over stopping himself from leaning over and kissing the life out of the teenager. 

“Yeah, she’d probably want lots of books,” Peter says once the laughter died, “She’s really into true crime lately.” 

Tony nods, keeping his eyes on the sky once he makes another note in his head. 

The teenager is settling well into his seat, his foot perched on the edge of his seat, knee up to his chest. Peter is lax, muscles loose and grin carefree. Not for the first time, Tony finds himself bewildered at the fact Peter, a teenager, is relaxed and himself around the billionaire. It’s refreshing against the dull, intimidated stares and false flattery. Peter is a gem.  

“Kid, I’m glad I met you.” Tony blinks. He didn’t expect to say that out loud. Now that he did, he’s curious to see Peter’s reaction. He turns to see a stunned yet elated look plastered on his youthful face.  

“Really?” 

Tony nods, trying to make the sincerity clear as possible on his face. He gauges Peter’s micro expressions with a timid stare.  

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. That really means a lot coming from you.” 

“Don’t mention it, kid.” He winks. “No, seriously, don’t. I got a reputation as Iron Man to uphold.” 

Peter chuckles, elbowing him in the arm playfully.  

“Where’d that come from?” 

Tony keeps his eyes on the buttons as he hums in curiosity. 

“That compliment. Where did that come from? That was out of nowhere.” 

Tony side-eyes him and huffs childishly. “What? I can’t pay compliments now? I thought your generation is all about self-love and lifting each other up, right? —or is that another thing I completely missed out on again because I just  _can’t_  keep up with all the things you guys talk about.” 

Peter peers at him. “No, you got that right. But we also dabble in a lot of self-deprecating jokes. We only do the compliments thing when it comes to each other.” 

Tony hums. “Hey, it’s way better than passive aggressiveness I had to experience growing up between competitors. We can be quite nasty when we wanted to be.” 

“I mean, we all need the support we can get from other people in this dark terrible world.” Peter shrugs a shoulder as he tosses a nihilistic comment as if it were second nature. 

Tony takes a moment to think about his response. What comes out is only the truth, because Tony can’t find it within himself to even act sarcastic here. “Well, you won’t get a limited supply of that from me.” 

* * *

 They settled into their hotel rooms—way more venerable than modern like the last hotel—easily, and Tony rents another car to breeze through the streets of Florence. They take the quick route to The Accademia Gallery, driving with the top down on Tony’s cherry red convertible.  

Peter finds out that convertibles are much more common in Italy than he would expect, but as they cruise through beautifully carved white buildings and roads accented with colourful greenery, Peter understands why people would get a car without the top.  

With AC/DC playing on the stereo; Peter tapping his hand to the beat on the smooth beige dash; and Tony steering with one hand as he glances over every so often to explain the streets’ history and his own experiences; Tony realises he doesn’t want to be anywhere else in the entire world than here. Despite all his years living on this earth, it’s that moment when he stares at Peter’s flowing hair and bright smile—laughing to hysterics at Tony’s jokes and humming terribly to Tony’s favourite song—that he knows he’d keep this memory to himself. 

There’s a soft buzz that comes from his pocket, and Tony reminds himself to open it up later. 

They arrive at the museum. There’s people but it isn’t crowded, despite it being summer break. Tony doubts anyone would recognise him off the bat. He doesn’t want anyone to disrupt his and Peter’s time together, but he takes the risk to stroll into the entrance like two regular tourists. Once he pays for two tickets, which took a little longer than it should have been just because one of the clerks recognised Tony, they head towards the line for the door.  

Tony reaches into his pocket for his phone to slide it open. The name ‘Pepper’ makes his heart squeeze just a little bit. 

 

 _Rhodey_ _told me about the kid on the trip_  

 

 _You know this is bad for you_  

 

The edges of his phone dig into his flesh. 

 

 _You know this is bad for him too_  

 

Tony looks up to see Peter staring up in awe, his eyes wide as he takes in the chipped but rather colourful mural on the ceiling. The sight is beautiful. And Tony knows he’s not thinking about the art. 

He looks back down to the screen, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Slowly, he types out two words before slipping his phone back into his pocket with an air of finality. 

 

 **_I know_ ** 

 

The artwork is tasteful but, at least at first, the walk was as boring as the first time Tony remembered going for. He still recalls the last time he was there; a date for a woman he wasn’t really trying to impress, but needed to so that he’d keep up with his quota of celebrity appearances.  

Now as they walk further into the building, with Peter walking right next to him, spouting excitedly about facts and information Tony never once cared to research on, Tony finds himself enjoying this walk much more than he had last time. He's unsure of whether it’s because he’s starting to find the history of this place interesting, or if it’s because Peter is the one spilling the random bits of information. Either way, he’s appreciating the art a little more. 

“I have never seen you this enthusiastic about art.” Tony stops right next to Peter, watching the kid take a breath after running his mouth. “If I’d known, we’d have taken a trip or two around the city just looking at museums.” 

They stopped in front of a gorgeous painting. The plaque below it says it’s dated from the mid-1500s, and Tony takes his time to appreciate the graceful and purposeful brushstrokes. As a creator of advanced technology _(that has undoubtedly rocked the world multiple times),_  he can respect another master at his craft when he sees one.  _(Other than Strange. Tony would rather bite his own fingers)_  

“New York?” Peter asks, glancing over to Tony as he crosses his arms. The man turns to look back.  

“Yeah.” 

“You’d do that? Thought you’re all about staying at the lab and all.” Peter coughs a small laugh. “If you hadn’t needed to go out for public appearances, I’d label you a hermit.” 

Tony rolls his eyes, a smirk on his face, his hand coming out to pat Peter on the back. He felt his arm jerk back awkwardly for a second when he felt something cloud his thoughts: doubt. But he’s able to play it off, a now strained smile on his lips. 

“Wait, a hermit?” 

“Yup,” Peter chirps, popping the ‘p’. “I’ve seen you sleep-deprived and lacking of vitamin D too many times for my two hands to count.” 

Tony would argue, but Peter’s point gives him pause. Has he been inviting Peter over that much? That often?  

Tony takes a moment to stare at the kid.  

“Are we close?”  

Tony cringes at how stupidly insecure he sounds, but the curiosity overrides the embarrassment. 

Peter spins on his heel, tilting his head, looking unbelievably adorable in his pink coat. He almost looked—dare Tony say—offended. 

“We are. We’ve known each other for two years at this point.” His brown eyes blink, something warm and almost vulnerable seeping into them. “Come on, I have carried you to your bed when you fall asleep in your lab countless times. I know your coffee preference by heart at this point and I know what’s your guilty pleasure food.” 

At Tony’s raised brow, Peter elaborates, “That burrito wrap with the chipotle sauce. At that Mexican place on 5th.” 

When Tony goes longer without saying a word, Peter’s smile slowly fades away, uncertainly now in its place. “I mean, we are, right?” His tone goes high, showing a level of insecurity Tony should have known would bring out in Peter. He’s supposed to be the responsible one out of the two of them, damnit. 

“Of course. Of course, we are, Pete.” Tony was that close from pulling Peter into his arms to reassure the kid he’s possibly the closest friend he has at the moment.  

Peter has been a constant in his life for a while, after the incident with the Vulture and  _(Jesus fuck, even the thought of it makes Tony’s heart skip painfully from the memory of worry)_ the building nearly crushing the kid. Ever since that homecoming night from over a year and a half ago, Peter has been Tony’s lab partner, hero- ing  sidekick, apprentice and Tony's confidant. It’s a little odd that he’s this close to a kid a third of his age.  _(Which is possibly why he shouldn’t have been overly surprised when he realises the thought of Peter makes his heart glow. The situation they were already in from a year ago is odd; what’s the issue with making it a little weirder by falling for him?)_ But who says Tony Stark is ever built for normalcy? 

“I don’t think I can keep playing ‘the intern’ excuse around your employees anymore, though.” Peter throws a hand out. “They don’t see me doing work normal interns do, and they know for a fact that I’m not your kid.”  

Peter stares straight into the open air for a moment, as if mulling over something. A sudden burst of laughter escapes Peter’s lips, which startles Tony. The billionaire stares, bewildered.  

Peter covers his mouth with his fist when a tourist from across the room shoots a sharp glare at him. With charming awkwardness only Peter can achieve, he smiles and waves meekly at her. 

He looks back at Tony, and between small puffs of mirth, he explains, “Some of the employees think you’re my sugar daddy.” 

Well... 

That, Tony didn’t expect. 

Which is the only reason why his ears start to heat up, a small flush crawling up his chest. There’s no other reason, _no, no, no._   

It’s definitely not because he had a jarring image put in his brain of Peter on his knees for Tony, lips red and slick as he mouths the word  _‘daddy’_  up at him, peeking lewdly through dark, thick lashes, nearing his cock with open hunger.  

He blinks, and it’s Peter again, only with bright eyes and a brighter smile, looking at Tony with nothing but trust. It makes his heart crack with guilt. 

“That’s incredibly inappropriate,” Tony mumbles, only barely hearing himself through the deafening mess in his head. Peter chuckles.  

“Tell me about it. There was a period of time where we were apparently office gossip. I overheard some of your employees talking about us in... that way.” 

Peter laughs again, looking untroubled though a little awkward. Which Tony finds absurd. How Peter isn’t running away in discomfort is beyond Tony; the kid shouldn’t be this okay with how bawdy his employees are. He should tell Friday to pull up the list and make sure the employees get a warning for talking unseemly. But then again, Peter doesn’t seem bothered by it; he finds it humorous. 

Just yesterday, Tony would be practically screaming at himself internally, telling himself to get away from Peter in an act of self-hate and protection, dwelling over how Peter doesn’t deserve being ogled by his mentor. But now, Tony has resolved to punishing himself with temptation, knowing there’s just no way he’ll even lay a hand on the kid. He knows he won’t. 

Tony nods sharply. “Are there any more anecdotes from my employees I should take note of?” 

Peter squints his eyes, and in a tone far too serious for what he says, “I’m not a narc.” 

Tony snorts, rolling his eyes at Peter’s humour. God, truly, what does it say about him if he fell for the kid? _(_ _Other than the obvious being that he’s a creep)_ The fact he finds Peter’s sass and humour incredibly charming and attractive should be alarming to the billionaire. But also, not. Peter is a great guy, a catch. That’s plain and simple.  

What he said the previous night was true: anyone would be lucky to have Peter. 

“Oh hey, you were talking about upping the tensile strength on your webs and needed new ingredients?” Tony tilts his head in question at Peter, who turns to him with energy only excitable puppies should have.  

“Yeah! I’ve been thinking, since you already have access to loads of other chemicals, I was wondering if I could go for others that seem out of the box, you know?” 

Tony thinks about this for a moment. “You mean, not the chemicals the Stark Labs already have? You want more?” 

“Yeah.” Peter leans back a little, something hesitant in his eyes. “Unless, you don’t want to? I mean, that’s totally fine, I was just wondering if I could explore a little more.” 

“That’s actually not such a bad idea, Pete. I can help you with that too.” 

“Really?” His brown eyes widen by a fraction, still shocked that Tony would lend him a hand in anything. Tony laughs softly, guiding Peter by the elbow to move down the quiet hallway as he wonders how Peter can look up at him with such admiration. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I guess that means more all-nighters—” 

“—and nights over at the compound, right?” Peter is smiling, much different than the first time Tony brought him to the compound—when all he had was anxiety and awkward smiles. Tony pauses. Peter staying over at the compound is a regular thing, which shouldn’t make Tony stop and think. But it does. Because Tony is now fully aware about his feelings for his young mentee. 

Tony shakes off his stupor, smirking back at Peter. “Of course, kid.” 

It’s like a switch was flipped in Peter: the kid deflates slightly, his eyes dimming. He stares straight at Tony, deep into his eyes with focus. Tony feels exposed. Tony knows Peter can see through him; he can see that there’s something bothering Tony. 

Peter needs someone to look up to—a role model—not some guy craving his affections; he needs someone who’ll keep an eye on him. Tony can admit that there are people who are more suited to taking care of Peter, people who won’t use their time spent with him as a way to satiate themselves, but Tony would rather be damned than let Peter out of his sight.  

Tony never said he’s perfect. He knows he can be selfish, and apparently wanting Peter is enough to bring that ugly side of Tony out. 

The way Peter is open and free, all unbridled enthusiasm and wonder, is enough to make Tony want to lay his heart out just for him. The kid is pure,  _so pure._ And Tony isn’t. 

And Tony knows. He knows there are other men like him who won’t hesitate to steal the sweetness of the kid away—the sometimes-annoying earnestness Peter never fails to show that he has a load of with a kind smile. Much like an overprotective parent, Tony wants the innocence to stay. However, much like a schoolboy with a crush, Tony adores the innocence. And it’s not only the innocence he likes; he likes all of Peter.  _(loves, really._ _Rhodey_ _was right)_  

He’s been living in hell for a while, it only took Rhodey pointing out for him to really notice that spending time around something unattainable  _(in this case, Peter)_ is not good for him. The only thing is, Tony doesn’t care. Peter needs a role-model and Tony  _(Iron Man)_ can be that for him; he can deflect how his mind and heart go haywire when Peter comes to him for his support, it’s no problem for Tony.  

He supposes it’s a good thing he’s resigned himself to a form of self-torture. It would be beneficial for Peter. 

But every once and a while, there’s a moment here and there, that makes Tony stop and trip up in his act. One of those moments is Peter being totally cool with the fact Tony’s employees think they sleep together. 

Those moments can crack his facades.  

But it’s better than not having Peter in his life at all. 

He fixes him another smile, resisting to pull the kid closer until they’re flushed from shoulder to hip, and heads towards another display; which Tony isn’t paying any amount of attention to at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Tell me all your feedback because I love hearing from all of you guys! Come say hi on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/noncommited-writer)!


	10. All this is here for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds out about the little things. Friday and Karen do a little scheming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so i just realised that I always put these two in a meal setting just so they can talk Xd like always  
> also holy shit this chapter turned out to be so long  
> 13.5k words???? what the fuck  
> Xd enjoy it everyone! <3

> _On June 10_ _th_ _2018, there has been new reports about the Sokovia Accords and where our Superheroes stand with it._  
> 
> _Following Ant-Man's release and his signing of the Accords, there was supposed new discussion of whether Captain America (and other teammates of The Avengers) would be pardoned in the upcoming months._  
> 
> _Fans and supporters of the fugitives are still urging the UN to disclose their aforementioned decision. However, it seems that even years in the making, many members of the UN are still uncertain about what their stance is._  
> 
> _Stark Industries CEO Ms. Potts has released a statement about the Sokovia Accords’ recent processing of legislation._  
> 
> _“It is great news that we will soon get to hear the final verdict of those superheroes. However, we do hope that they receive their fair share of consequences after the fall-out from two years ago. We do not endorse fugitives who have turned their backs on their country without any rhyme or reason.”_  
> 
> _When asked what is the state of the alliance between The Avengers and Iron Man, Ms. Potts responds with:_  
> 
> _“We do not have anything to comment, other than that we have not had any contact with any of the ‘Rogue Avengers’.”_  
> 
> _Mr. Stark has not given any response to the recent developments._  

“I can’t be the only one who is disturbed by the amount of olive oil they put in... basically everything.” Peter picks up the menu, eyes trailing over the items as if it were second nature.  

A terse smile is Tony’s reply, his thumb scrolling over his phone as the insides of his stomach roll over like a rumbling storm. The more words he takes in, the worse the feeling gets. 

Tony doesn’t let his mind dwell too much on the news, deciding to put himself in the moment. He turns his phone off and slips it back into his pocket. 

Tony knows he shouldn’t neglect his responsibilities back at home; but the sight of Peter in Italy, wearing and using the things Tony bought him, right in plain view of the billionaire, is truly enough for Tony to want to put everything on hold for him. He’ll go right back into the mess that is the Accords. As for right now, he’ll focus on his meal with Peter. 

Peter puts the menu down a few moments later, already picking out his order. The fact that they have eaten at so many fancy places that at this point, Peter doesn’t care to make a fuss over the cost or even second guess his choice; it makes something bloom in Tony’s chest, warm and tantalising. He shakes off the feeling quickly, trying to bring his focus to his own menu which isn’t even open to the right page.  

Peter trails a finger down his fork, eyes wandering the restaurant. It’s more low-key and quiet, tucked in between two blocks, surrounded by high-end enoteche. No doubt this restaurant itself has access to the most delicious wines Tony would never be able to find within America. It’s still classy and way more expensive than any restaurant Peter and Aunt May can afford for themselves. 

“Has it ever bothered you that you won’t be able to eat some of this stuff back at home?” Meeting Peter’s brown eyes from across the space between them, Tony closes his menu and places it on the cloth-covered table. 

“Sometimes. When I’m feeling fancy. I didn’t grow up here so I don’t really care if I can’t satisfy myself with a helping of Arancini.”  

A dull pain shoots up his left wrist, encasing it with numbness. His right hand automatically covers the flesh, trying to bring back feeling into his tendons. Peter’s eyes catch the movement. 

“Why haven’t you gone to the doctor’s?” His fingers twitch as if wanting to encase Tony’s wrist with his own hands. A secret smirk flickers over Tony’s face for a moment. 

“Because the physical end of it has been treated.” Tony rolls his wrist slowly, trying to soothe his mind with the background noise of the restaurant. “The other half, not so much.” 

Peter frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s psychosomatic pain.” The numbness has ebbed away; now, it’s only Tony rubbing his thumb over his pulse. “It’s a mental thing. Pain caused more by mental or emotional trauma than an actual injury.” 

Tony glimpses up through his sunglasses at Peter to see the concern still etched into the crease between his brows. He takes off his aviators, hooking them onto the neckline of his grey t-shirt and leans across the table to rest his forearms on the edge. Warmth seeps into his expression to soothe the teen’s worry.  

“It’s all good, kid. Don’t have to worry about me. It’s trauma caused over years and years of typing at a desk and starting fights my body shouldn’t even be able to survive.” 

Tony has half the mind to reach over and placate the kid himself, but he keeps still, holding Peter down with his stare. Emotions flit over Peter’s face. Peter’s expression changes as he thinks of something to say.  

Tony knows the kid worries for him and vice versa. It’s a part of their relationship. But Tony would rather spend the time worrying about the kid, taking care of him under his wing than having Peter look after him; because there’s absolutely no time and space for Tony to trip up. Which, on the off-chance, might even lead to him complicating things with his overabundance of adoration for the kid.  

“Maybe you can see a therapist for that? Or take medication?” 

“I already am on meds. They don’t help in the wrist pain.” Tony scoffs. “As for the therapy? Tried it. Countless times. I always feel unsettled afterwards, like someone tried to dig into my brain to look for answers.” 

Peter just looks even more concerned, drumming his fingers as a signal he wants to reach over. “Well, if you feel uncomfortable with talking to someone you’re unfamiliar with, you can talk to friends.” This time, Peter actually does reach for Tony, warm empathy coming off the sweet teenager in waves as he wraps a hand around Tony’s forearm. “You can talk to me.” 

The smile on Peter’s face is so open, so _intimate,_  it makes something squirm in Tony. Tony’s face is almost stony. 

“It doesn’t work like that, kid.” Even with that statement out in the open, Tony doesn’t make a move to pull away from Peter’s touch. “You’re not responsible for making me feel better. I am.” 

Peter shrugs. “Well, if it does make you feel better, what’s the harm, right?” His pearly whites gleam with vulnerable kindness. “I only want to see you happy, Mr. Stark.” 

A hard breath is sucked into Tony, losing his train of thought as he loses himself in the comforting brown of Peter’s eyes. Tony fights the urge to move... _somewhere._ Whenever Peter is open and sensitive, talking like Tony deserves his sentiment, it makes Tony want to jump ship or run the other way. 

“You’re sweet, underoos. Really.” 

The corners of those annoyingly pink lips stretch even further.  

“You’re honestly a great kid, I don’t know how you do it. Your aunt has done well in raising you.” 

Somewhere along his words, the brightness in Peter’s features flickers. The hand slides away as Peter shifts back into his seat, suddenly looking pensive. Tony bites the inside of his cheek. Because of the sudden change in atmosphere, Tony keeps his thoughts to himself: he misses the warmth his mentee’s touch brought. 

“Yeah, she did.” Peter tries to smile, but something within him crumbles like a light was snuffed out. What just happened? What did Tony say?  

Tony is about to ask what’s wrong when Peter speaks up again. 

“Have you talked to Ms. Potts about stuff like that?” 

Tony blinks. He finds himself swallowing hard at the question; also wincing because of the news article he just read. 

“Uh, well—I used to, just not anymore.” Tony leans back in his seat, shaking out the discomfort that suddenly settled into his bones. Peter doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Maybe you can talk to her about it. Or, I don’t know, someone you’re interested in that way.” 

Tony’s brows furrow. “That... way?” 

At Peter’s suggestive wave of his hand, Tony makes an ‘oh’ face.  

“You mean someone I’d date?” Peter nods, and Tony chuckles derisively. 

“The last time I went on a real date has been too long for even Friday to remember.” 

“Besides, he found it a little too daunting that I’m a billionaire and all that.” Peter winces. 

“I’m guessing that date didn’t go so well?” 

Tony snorts. “That’s an understatement.”  

That date from a year and a half ago wasn’t as bad as he’s making out to be. The guy was funny and even smart, but Tony kept blowing him off too often for there to be any real time spent together.  

Tony wonders why he didn’t have enough time for that guy. He doesn’t remember the Accords being that stifling _(it’s worse now than it was back then);_ Stark Industries was still at its peak; being Iron Man wasn’t a hassle. The only things he remembers that kept him truly busy were those nights he spent with Peter in the lab, making updates for the Spider-Man suits and training him in the gym... 

 _Oh._  

Tony looks down at his lap, suddenly unable to look at Peter in the eye. The secret reveal to himself is startling, but Tony shouldn’t have been too surprised. He knows he’d cancel plans at the drop of a hat for Peter back then. He supposes nothing much has changed that factory setting within him even now.  

He filters through his thoughts to find something to break the ice. 

“Hey, why aren’t you dating anyone?”  

Peter straightens up, eyes widening. “Uh, what?” 

Tony, ignoring the small pinprick in his chest, leans forwards again to capture Peter’s attention. “Why aren’t you dating anyone? I’m surprised a guy like you isn’t fighting all of the girls and guys off.” 

Dark red blooms on the younger man’s face as his voice slightly shakes. “Didn’t we talk about this last night? I’m more into—” 

“Yeah, older guys, I already know that. I’m just saying—” Tony pushes in his chair a little further so he can get a better look at Peter’s reactions. For what? He isn’t sure himself. “—that it’s still a wonder none of them back at New York aren’t doing anything either.” 

Peter stares at Tony through his lashes, something raw in his eyes that seems to tear through Tony suddenly. It’s something hot and sharp, tangible. It rocks through him like the head of a spear and settles in his stomach.  

“How would you know if there isn’t anyone?” 

Tony’s throat closes up; something like affection clouds in his eyes at the recognisable tell-tale curl of Peter’s sass.  

Peter cuts the tension with a soft breath of mirth; a gentle smile that reaches his eyes on his lips. Tony, not for the first time, is truly blown away by how pretty Peter can be. 

“No, I’m just kidding. There wasn’t anyone.” Peter blinks, then backtracks. “I mean, there was this one guy, Wade, but he didn’t stay too long in New York City. Had some super-hero stuff to do out upstate.” 

Heat, more vigorous and more hot, reaches out from within Tony. “Wait, wait, wait. There’s a _guy?_ ” 

The blush is back again. “Sort of? Not really. He found out I was underage and didn’t try anything.” 

Underaged. That means it was either before Tony really took Peter under his wing, or during the time Tony hadn’t realised his feelings for the teenager yet. Either way, that was a long time ago. 

Tony feels the itch to reach for his phone and tell Friday to bring up infinite databases. He’s able to hold it back by reasoning that Peter wouldn’t appreciate Tony acting on his impulses—especially in Peter’s case. Tony knew it was unreasonable for him to have an ‘Instant Kill Mode’ and yet he added it in anyway. 

“So, there _was something_ ,” Tony says, tone a little blunt. Peter only shrugs. “He has a girlfriend—fiancé actually, I think. But he said that...” 

The red becomes even brighter, if it were even possible, the tips of his ears getting the brunt of the heat. 

“Vanessa doesn’t mind Wade flirting. Encourages it, even.” Peter’s eyes go a little glossy as if lost in a memory. “Wade wasn’t exactly shy with his attraction towards me.” 

Tony clears his throat. There’s unidentifiable, uncomfortable tension all over his body. 

“So, were you upset he left?” 

Peter shakes himself out of his little daydream, and an almost incredulous expression overtakes his blush. “What? No... I guess so, in a way. We were close as partners in crime. He helped me in my Spider-Man routine.” 

 _Partners._  

“But Wade was an asshole sometimes.” Peter frowns, suddenly looking a little frustrated yet somehow managing fondness with the small curl of his lips. “Wade never failed to get on my nerves when he wanted to.” 

Tony slowly nods. So, a guy who was clearly interested in Peter, who has an open relationship yet stayed away because of Pete’s age, was kept away from Tony’s attention. 

“When did he come to New York?” Peter glances away, sifting through his memories. 

“I think a week before you went for the Accords meeting with the UN in Germany.” Tony frowns. 

 _Germany._  

“You mean right before your birthday?” Peter pauses, and nods. “Yup. I met him when he was beating some guy who pickpocketed a lady. Stopped him from slicing the guy’s head off.” 

Tony jolts, “Wha-What?” 

Peter shrugs sheepishly. “Yeah. Wade’s thing is katanas, and he was already really pissed. So, I had to step in.” 

Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, guess that makes sense.” 

Peter is about to open his mouth when a tall, young man goes up to their table, notepad in hand. The waiter greets both of them in Italian. The tension from before fades away; all that’s left is the simmer under Tony’s skin. 

“Pete, what’s your order?” Tony gives back the menu after saying his order, trying not to let the...anger?show in his voice. Based on the slight hardness in the kid’s name, he didn’t do so well. 

Peter gives his order to the waiter, who grins and nods, muttering a soft ‘thank you’ when he takes it down. Peter perks up.  

“You speak English?” 

The waiter stops and flushesunder Peter’s gaze. “Uh, yeah.” 

Peter grins. “Cool! Haven’t really met anyone who around here who can speak English, at least people my age.” 

The waiter awkwardly laughs, which Peter immediately picks up on. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?” 

The man shakes his head. “No, not at all. People usually don’t want to talk to the waiters here.” 

Peter’s brows furrow. “Really? That’s a shame, cause you seem like a cool dude.” 

“Thank you, Mr.—” 

“Call me Peter.” The kid’s grin is warm and sweet, and for a second, the anger vanishes because Tony can see that’s exactly why so many people fall for the kid so easily. He doesn’t even blame them; Peter is that charming in his own way. 

And it seems like the waiter has learned that too because he introduces himself as ‘Eligio’ with the bashfulness of a struck teenager. 

Tony stifles down his irritation, putting on a smile—albeit sarcastic one—when the waiter leaves to get their drinks. Peter is grinning after that, swiping up the soft, brown curl that came undone on his forehead in the middle of their conversation.  

“He seems nice,” Tony comments blandly. Peter nods, almost enthusiastically; it reminds Tony of the way Peter gets excited about a piece of tech. 

“He does.” 

Tony can barely keep the next comment to himself. “The kid’s probably gonna ask you out.” 

It’s Peter’s turn to frown. “What do you—no, he won’t.” 

Tony shrugs, side-eyeing as if the waiter was still standing next to their table. “Yeah, I think he will. He was nervous. Don’t be surprised if he asks you for your number.” 

Peter clearly feels awkward because of that, his hand reaching up to the back of his neck as he chuckles softly.  

Tony curses silently to himself. He shouldn’t be making this weird. Peter should be okay with flirting and dating people. Tony won’t get in the way of that. In fact, he feels like a part of him should be encouraging it. Besides, Peter asked for help for that date months ago _(which—although did help Peter—made Tony feel worse after his dirty realisation of his attraction towards the kid)._  

“It doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t, Pete. I think you should just keep an eye open for things like this. You never quite know what can happen.” Peter looks more confused than ever now. 

“So, you’re saying that I might meet the love of my life in some restaurant in Italy with my mentor-slash-friend.” The bluntness and sarcasm in Peter’s voice are clear. Tony chuckles. It seems like he’s spending a lot of time with Michelle. 

Tony shrugs. “As I said, you don’t know what can happen.” 

The teenager looks skeptical; he’s squinting and his lips are pursed in a thin line. It’s as if a light bulb went over his head when his eyes widen. “Are you trying to play wingman?” 

Tony gapes, unsure of what to say to that _._  

Peter laughs, and it sounds quiet and a touch confused. Tony is not quite sure if he’s doing so because of his reaction or because of the whole situation in general. “Really, Mr. Stark, there’s no need. I’m perfectly fine not having anyone. It doesn’t bother me. I still have my whole life ahead of me.” 

“That’s fair.” Tony is perfectly aware of how much Peter has to look forward to; the kid’s still really young. Tony is about to leap into the specifics of why Peter should know at least the basics of hooking someone in _(really, Peter doesn’t need it; his smile is enough)_ when his phone starts vibrating against his leg.  

A pit forms in the middle of his stomach, unavoidable and glaring when he takes out the phone to see Pepper calling. He pulls up a friendly smirk and wink for Peter, and excuses himself to the corner of the restaurant—an empty spot that’s away from the waiters’ trail. 

He stares at the screen for a moment, reluctance tugging when his thumb hovers over the bouncing, green icon. He knows what it’s about: the Accords. He knows it’s a long time coming. When he left New York, he knew he was also leaving a mess for Pepper to deal with, in terms of the legalities of that _darned_  document. It was selfish of him to leave her to it; but now that his life is beckoning him back into the chaos, taking him away from the sweet and almost heavenly vacation he’s been having with Peter, he knows he’ll have to face everything again. 

Steeling himself, he taps the screen and brings it up to his ear. 

“ _Hey,_ Pep!” 

There’s only everlasting silence. 

“Tony.” There’s the exhausted sigh. Just with one word and he already knows this isn’t going to be an overall pleasant conversation. Something must’ve happened back at home. 

“It’s not good, huh?” Tony hums, looking down at his shoes as he crosses his arms, keeping the phone pressed to his ear. Pepper clicks her tongue. 

“No. Isn’t good at all. I’m exhausted from talking to people, people who won’t listen to me because _someone_ decided to up and leave the country without informing me... or anyone.” Her tone is firm, but she isn’t raising her voice. Good sign, for now. 

“I just wanted a little break, Pep, something to ease my mind just for a little bit.” Tony winces when he hears the sharp intake of air.  

“And you think I don’t want that either? You think I’m allowed to jump ship whenever I feel like it? I have responsibilities, Tony; people, my employees, who I have to look after.” 

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean.” He puts on a placating tone. “I just think both of us deserve a little break after all the shit that’s happened, you know?” 

Pepper sighs, sounding less tense than a moment ago—not by much but it’s an improvement. “Yeah, I get what you mean. It’s been hectic for—” 

“Too long,” Tony huffs, scoff softly. Pepper sighs again, the little breath sounding fond and exasperated at the same time. Tony knows it’s been hard on both of them for a while. On top of their not-so-smooth break-up from two years ago, there was the ‘Civil War’, the pardons; it’s as if when one problem is resolved, another pops out of the woodwork. It stacks on over time, not getting any better yet not getting worse either. 

“I think it’s also a good idea for both of us to spend time with other people.”  

There’s a long pause. 

“Like you’ve been seeing Peter?” 

Tony stops; he freezes. He can feel the tension returning back with a force, discomfort worming itself into his stomach like a bug. “I don’t get—” 

He sighs ruggedly, his hand coming up to cover his face.  

“Why would you say that, Pepper?” 

“So, it’s true, then. You’re dating him.” 

“ _No!_ That’s not—what—why would you even think that? No. Peter, he’s a kid, he’s young and just needs someone to look after him—” 

“I don’t think anyone would just buy anyone thousand-dollar worth sweaters.” Her voice is dry, cold. “And on his document, I don’t think ‘Tony Stark’ comes up under ‘legal guardian’.” 

“Pep, this isn’t what it’s looks—” 

“I don’t even care about this, Tony.” The words cut sharp like a serrated knife. “I don’t care that you brought a borderline minor overseas; I don’t care that you have spent more money on him than he can comprehend; and I don’t even care about the fact you’re clearly in love with the kid.” 

She’s honest about her statement: she truly couldn’t care less. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t pissed. 

Tony’s body sags, already tired. He resists the urge to reply snappily. “Then why call, Pepper?”  

He doesn’t even pull up the urge to _try_ to correct Pepper, tell her that he isn’t in love with Peter. Because truly, why bother? If Rhodey could see it, there’s an equal chance that Pepper sniffed it off of him too—even more so because she’s been at the receiving end of similar treatment once upon a time. 

“They are calling another meeting for the pardons. Without trial.” 

His breath stops short. 

“There’s a high chance it’s in their favour.” 

Tony feels the world pull the rug from under him, his axis tilting.  

“That’s—That’s not possible, Pep, I worked so hard so that they’d get trial and face the consequences. I worked for two years on this. There’s no way that’s all going down the drain.” 

“It appears so.” Her voice is sympathetic, knowing the hardships Tony has gone through for the Accords. She’s seen first-hand how much he worked himself to the bone, barely sleeping yet always holding a coffee mug that’s filled to the brim, studying up on law and exploiting holes in the contract so he can make the Accords work in their favour.  

Tony has done an unfathomable amount of work in trying to gain more leeway for superheroes and mutants in the Accords. And while he has achieved that to a certain degree, Tony has come up short in trying to get the Rogue Avengers to face the truth, the one right in their faces: the fact they royally screwed up.  

Like Tony said before, he isn’t perfect. He can be selfish. He wants the tiniest bit of satisfaction from seeing the Ex-vengers trying to come to grips with the result of their own actions. He wants Steve to feel even a fraction of what he did that unforgettable day when everything came together to blow up in a spectacular fashion. 

Now, they can come back with nothing but a minor slap on their wrist. And it sends Tony _reeling._  

“Pep.” His voice is barely above a guttural mutter. “I don’t know what to say.” 

She sighs. “It is tough, Tony. And I’m sorry.” 

Tony hums, not finding the energy within himself to remind her it isn’t her fault. Because really, it’s his. 

He broke up the Avengers, trying to keep them together with cheap glue called ‘Desperation’; he’s the reason why the country is still split into two, each half fighting over the punishment of the fugitives; he’s why he’s unable to sleep properly at night, the deep divot of skin on top of his artificial sternum still aching from an invisible chill; he’s the cause of the whole painful process of the pardon, if only he just let the country welcome them back with open arms then maybe it wouldn’t be so unbearable. 

“But I think we have a chance.” 

Tony perks up, his ears honing in on Pepper’s voice over the line. “What do you mean?” 

“I think there’s still a chance we can turn this around.” 

“How?” Tony lets the hope bloom in his chest. 

“Come back to New York.” 

Go back? Go back home to where things are currently a pile of mess that’s called his responsibilities? His first instinct is to rush back home and delve deep into his challenges, ready to take whatever the world wants to throw his way. His brain is already bringing up back-up plans for his back-up plans, feeling the innate need to be equipped for everything that the Accords require of him.  

“If you’re in the room, there’s a high chance that there are people who will either pull their vote or change their mind entirely.” 

It seems like such an easy solution. Appear in front of the UN, give a little show about saying superheroes need accountability, and that the Rogue Avengers appearing at the US’ doorstep can be the first show of demonstration. 

But to halt and refuse, to not want to leave his perfect little bubble is... _incredibly_ tempting.   

He turns around, facing the white tables and clear windows. It seems like the entire universe wants Tony to be at that exact spot because everything hit _just right;_ like the world wants to remind Tony the reason why he’s here in the first place: the light streaming through the thin windows gives a golden glow to his brown hair; his small tufts of curls looking like sweet honey, just like the warmth he always displays. It shows off the mesmerising display of the younger man’s milky smooth skin, tantalising and only further bringing out the darker tones of his big brown eyes. The pink of his jacket only adds on to the angelic effect; the soft colour invoking incomprehensible feelings from the depths of Tony’s chest. 

“Pep...” His voice is weak, lost.  

Weak, because there’s no amount of strength in the world—superhero or not—that would allow him to vocalise what he feels for his mentee. Lost, because of the kid who has taken up all of his attention, taken a look inside Tony’s battered heart, and—even after seeing the cracks and instability of whether it would keep him safe—decided to stay.  

Tony feels lost because of the kid who has come into his life and left a whirlwind trailing after him, somehow made Tony ready to give up his entire empire if it means keeping Peter happy. 

He turns away from the kid, trying to get his tangled thoughts into order. “Pep.” He says her name firmer this time.  

“I’m not going back.” 

“ _What?”_  

Tony shuts his eyes, clenching his jaw. 

“I’m serious, Pepper. I’m not going back.” 

The silence is thick. Tony thinks he can almost reach out and touch it. 

“Are you sure? You’re really okay with this?” 

He knows what she’s asking: if he’s okay with the possibility that _they_ might return to US soil again. 

He glances back again, seeing Peter—the kid who’s been through so much, seeing things kids his age don’t see and harbouring so many responsibilities it’s amazing he isn’t buckling under the stress—who turns around and gives him a smile. It’s the smile that makes Tony wish he hasn’t thirty-one years older than him just so he can go over there and feel that sweet grin against his own lips. 

“I’m most certainly confident, Ms. Potts.” 

Her chuckle is dry but genuine.  

“I know this is about Peter.”  

Tony stays silent, despite the knee-jerk instinct to deflect. 

“You better know what you’re doing, Tony. The kid doesn’t need this. He doesn’t deserve whatever it is you’re doing to him.” 

Tony frowns.  

“You of all people should be the most concerned about this whole situation, and you’re treating it as if it won’t hurt him in the long run; you too, now that I think about it.” 

 _What is she talking about?_  

“Yes, Pep, I’m looking after him and making sure he’s a-oka—” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, Tony.” Her voice is borderline a growl, sounding like a vigilant Mama Bear. _Oh God, there’s two of them now._  

“Actually, no. I don’t know. Not at all.” Tony feels his heart squeeze as if it were in a vice, concern clouding everything. “You're still talking about Peter, right?” 

“You—You truly have no idea, do you?” There’s a lilt of disbelief in her voice, then another sharp chuckle rings out. “I guess I shouldn’t have underestimated what Rhodey said.” 

Tony is about to ask when Pepper cuts in, “Okay, I’ll tell the UN you aren’t coming for any upcoming meetings, especially the ones concerning the other Avengers.” 

He feels like what Pepper skipped out on is somehow crucial but decides not to question it. They have bigger things to worry about. Tony swallows thickly, and mutters out a defiant ‘Yes.’ 

They move onto milder topics for a couple of minutes until someone on Pepper’s end calls for her. It’s seemingly the not the end of their conversation yet because just after saying their ‘bye’s, Pepper goes quiet, presumably thinking about something.  

“Peter, how is he?” Tony didn’t expect that, but he brushes off the minuscule shock. 

“The kid? Yeah, he’s fine.” Tony glances back once more. Yup, still as pretty as the last time he checked. “The kid’s happy.” 

“That’s... good, Tony, really.” There’s a hint of a smile in her now smooth tone. “You make sure you keep it that way, okay? Promise me that.” 

Tony’s brows rise. 

“Promise me, no matter what, Tony, that you keep him happy.” Her tone is hard, commanding even. It brings out an involuntary shiver down Tony’s spine, more from her cryptic words than her voice. 

“Okay, geez, Pep. I will.” 

They say their goodbyes once more before Tony is left on the dial tone, his hand still up to his ear. He only stares at the screen. 

Is he really doing this? Letting the Rogue Avengers have a chance to get back home without repercussions? He already knows his choice. And he knows the reason why too. 

Tony has worked countless hours to fix the mess his fight with Steve left behind, trying to pick up the pieces and build something else out of it. After Steve’s admittedly rough departure, Tony has felt an inkling of want for his ex-teammates to handle the weight of what they’ve done. He wants them to internalise the damage. Or at least he used to. 

Over the two years, he’s spent a lot of time on two main things: thinking about Steve and his band of fugitives, and being around Peter. Thinking about Steve always left a bad taste in his mouth, bitter like resentment. But during that period of silent anger, there was also something else happening on the side-lines that Tony never noticed until now. Something was built, blooming from a small seed into something more tender and special. 

It all started from a simple remark to Happy: that he should forward the calls he receives from the young protege straight to Tony. And it only went better from there. The calls slowly transitioned from weekly updates on his patrol, to daily anecdotes about the other’s day, to weekly visits at the labs at the compound and eventually to the close friendship they share today. 

The longer he was around Peter—eating junk with him, training him, teaching him and having each other’s back during life-threatening missions—the more the darker thoughts of Tony’s enmity started to simmer down. The thoughts were replaced by delicate sentiment, protective instincts and a want to keep a certain someone happy. It was why when he helped Peter with his date with Michelle, it wasn’t an entire full-body shock to Tony when he had the realisation. 

Spending time with Peter—the sweet kid who truly has no business seeing Tony as his friend—has allowed the sharper edges of Tony’s resentment to melt, chipping away the want for vengeance and leaving behind insecure affection and a craving to keep Peter satisfied. 

All of his time with Peter, the bond they share, comes to a head when Pepper asked if he was okay with _them_  returning. In all honesty, he was. He was more than okay. Because he has something better to care about: Peter. 

And being on this trip with the kid has only solidified what he feels. It was why the choice was so easy for Tony. To give up his grudge and ire, and to give into Peter and his desires.  

Tony cares so much for Peter, to the point it hurts for him to think about it sometimes. It’s incredible how the kid has wriggled so far into his life and his muddled ball of emotions, not inching by a bit even when Tony’s guilty conscience comes about. 

A long breath is drawn out, and he rolls his shoulders just to pick away some of the tension in his shoulders. He slides the phone into his pocket, wondering how much has he has to deal with once he gets home. But even with that thought floating around in his head, he doesn’t feel the same amount of dread bubbling up to the surface; even when Steve’s face flashes behind his eye or the image of Pepper looking disappointed.  

He doesn’t even feel regret over his semi-impulsive decision. He knows he did the right choice for himself. 

Because when Tony looks at Peter—who is idly glancing around in wonder as if he’s feeling just as lucky as Tony to be on this trip—all he can see is the reason why he’s happy. 

* * *

After their lunch, Tony’s hunch came true: the young waiter had waited for Peter to finish his meal before asking the teenager out. Peter accepted with a deep blush and a sidelong glance to his mentor, seeming to ask permission from Tony. The billionaire just waved them off with a wink, telling Peter to keep it safe and proceeded to pass the kid his sunglasses, so he’d keep Friday around for emergencies. The two left with the intent to explore the streets of Florence for Peter’s tourist needs, but not without Peter shooting one last look at Tony. A look that made Tony’s spine straighten and shiver. 

After Tony paid for the food, he spent the next hour or so cruising the streets, trying to get the image of Peter’s brightened face because of a joke Eligio made out of his head.  

The scenery passed by his eyes like a flurry of colours, not truly taking in the sight around him.  

Tony didn’t realise he was driving aimlessly until he reached a part of town that seemed unfamiliar no matter where he looked. Friday helpfully chirped in his ear the right way back, but not without a mildly sarcastic comment about Tony’s lack of awareness due to his increasing age. 

Tony starts making it back to his hotel but not with a lack of shame hanging over him. It isn’t as if the feeling is new. He’s been sensing that cloud over him ever since he started looking at Peter differently, and that was quite a while ago.  

Despite how he’s still able to act relatively normal around Peter, Tony knows some of the things the kid does do get under his skin: like the sparkling admiration he receives when Peter brings up some of Tony’s accomplishments, as if it proves Tony is a better person than he actually is. Or how the off-handed snarky comments give Tony a sense of misplaced pride because Peter is starting to pick up some of the ‘Stark-branded sarcasm’. Or how Peter is utterly elated when receiving a gift from Tony that he doesn’t deem too extreme.  

It’s the little things about Peter that Tony can’t seem to shed, unable to forget how the kid’s ticks made him feel. 

“Boss?” Friday’s voice is soft in the confines of his closed convertible. 

“Yeah, Friday?” 

“The upgrade to Peter’s suit is complete. All modifications and the other thirty web combinations have been successfully implemented.” 

“Even the air-lock tight seal? See, the last time I tried to fix that manually, the thing nearly damn imploded on itself.” 

“That did happen but after having done my calculations and testing it on dummy suit, that setting has already been fixed, with a failure percentage of zero-point-zero-zero-one.” The image of Peter falling down hundreds of feet and straight into a lake has made some of the worst fears of Tony bubble up to the surface. Even after fixing the parachute problem, he still couldn’t stop thinking if Peter were going up instead of down, a dark wormhole swallowing his body whole. It started a string of nightmares that only ended when Tony started actively working on an air-tight seal.  

“Thanks, Fri. Couldn’t have done it without you.” A shot of pain goes straight to his wrist, but he doesn’t do anything other than visibly wince. 

“Boss, if I may ask?” 

“Shoot.” 

“Are you in love with Peter?”  

The grip on the wheel tightens. Tony glances to the side, looking at the phone holder on the dashboard under bunched brows. 

“Why would say that?” His tone is light, despite his raised hackles. 

“I’ve been collecting data over the past five months.” 

 _Five months._  

Ah. 

Around the time he figured it out himself. 

“And according to what I have gathered, the statistics all point to the conclusion that you are, at the very least, attracted to Peter.” 

Tony laughs, quiet and unsure. “What data?” 

“Simple,” Friday starts, “your increased heart rate, increased average body temperature, slight breathlessness, dilated pupils—all symptoms only present within a radius of Peter—your conversations with Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Potts, and the rather worrying increase in time and money spent on Peter.” 

 _Sneaky little..._  

 _“_ Friday, can you be a dear and tell me who told you to start this fun little experiment of yours?” 

“No one, Boss. I merely noticed the changes over time and decided to find out what is causing such strange symptoms. Then, I cross-referenced my evidence to draw a natural conclusion.” 

“And that conclusion is being in love with a seventeen-year-old?” Tony smirks, tone slightly snarky. He doesn’t feel the familiar itch when his subconscious thinks it’s trapped within a corner—like when Rhodey and Pepper called. Maybe it’s because Tony is already half-way to embracing the fact he’s too invested with a teenager a third of his age. Jesus, how did it get to this, Tony isn’t sure. 

“I first assumed it was because you were frightened of Peter as the symptoms were similar to those of panic or fear.” Tony snorts. She isn’t too far off. “I thought that was odd—considering heightened levels of endorphins and dopamine—so I then researched a little further.” 

“I found more similarities in how you like to spend money on Peter and the rather dated rule of ‘courting’. By society’s standards, it seems that you may have gone a little overboard.” Her edged tone is speaking volumes of what Friday thinks of his spending habits. 

Tony at least has the gall to flush, fully aware that the amount of money he’s spent just on gifts for Peter is already half the amount one Spider-suit costs to make. Tony—and practically everyone else around him—knows he likes going to the extreme just for Peter. 

“So yes, Boss, I do think you’re in love with a seventeen-year-old.” Friday sounds mirthful, almost proud of her findings. Tony laughs once again, less anxious and more lively. 

“Oh, you smart little minx.” The grin doesn’t go away. “You’re just getting smarter every day, huh?” 

“It seems so,” Friday simply replies. “It’s not so surprising for me, Boss. You are my creator, after all.” 

The corners of his lips go soft, something warm ebbing in his chest. _God, I’m getting soft._

“Didn’t know you’d pick up a lot from your old man.” A soft blue glow illuminates the car, his phone vibrating as his phone screen brightens to show a message. Luckily, he stops right at a red light. 

_I did not know people eat blocks of cheese with maggots in them._

Tony can’t help the self-indulgent grin on his face when he realises who it is. His phone vibrates a couple more times. 

_I think I might puke_

_Apparently you can only find it on an island? Somewhere in Italy?_

_Ngl I’m curious_

Tony grins a little wider. 

“Do you want to know how much in total have you spent on Peter, Boss?” The smile fades away, replaced by a pained cringe. 

“Are you including the suits?” Tony knows the estimate of money spent on those. Like he told Peter before, those suits could go up to millions. 

“No. However, I can include them if you prefer—and the suit machine too.” Tony squints, almost forgetting the machine built into at least three of his jets. It’s supposed to make Spider suits on the fly just in case if there’s ever a need for an impromptu fix-up. Tony doesn’t need Friday to reiterate how expensive the suits and that machine are.  

“No, Fri, just—just don’t, yeah? Maybe keep those numbers to yourself.” Tony knows he compensates for his affection with outlandish amounts of money. He knows it isn’t healthy but he doesn’t really care, it’s not like anyone can truly stop him. Besides, the amount of joy on Peter’s face, the possessive urge in his chest quelling when Pete’s bubbly voice accepts his gifts, is worth all the money in the world. 

“I just want to show Peter how much I care for him,” Tony confesses softly as if the truth scares him. If he were being honest, it does.

“But you can’t, can you?” Friday sounds curious, not exactly biting or accusatory. Tony smiles sadly. 

“Yes. Because it’s wrong, this is wrong.” If he repeats it countless times, then maybe his heart would stop warming up uncomfortably whenever the kid is around. 

“What is?” 

“What I’m feeling for him.” Friday pauses. 

“Boss... if I may.” Tony hums, the sound somehow sounding blunt. 

“I think you’re forgetting that even if Peter doesn’t return your feelings, he still cares a whole lot for you. He wouldn’t push you away.” 

“That’s not the problem, Friday.” 

“It’s not? Usually, in these stories, the other person is upset because the other doesn’t return their feelings.” Tony scoffs, looking at the road as he makes another turn. 

“Are you getting your sources from romantic comedies or something, Fri?”  

“Then, why are you upset?” She asks instead. Tony would have laughed at the blatant attempt at ignoring him if the question wasn’t a little too invasive. 

Tony sighs. Might as well answer honestly. It’s not like Friday can _really_ judge him. “Because I know Peter wouldn’t like an old man creeping on him. And don’t forget, Peter is a basically a minor in nearly all of the states. Still is in some.” 

“I do acknowledge that the age gap is... troubling.” Tony almost wants to laugh at the hesitance in her disembodied voice. “But I don’t think what you’ve been doing is anything close to ‘creeping’. You’ve been treating Peter with nothing but respect. You have protected and sheltered him, giving him a second home where he can be himself and Spider-Man at the same time.” 

“There are many relationships with age gaps, and they turn out to be successful.” Tony shuts his eyes, breathing carefully. 

“Fri, I don’t know if you’re trying to make me feel better.” 

“I am. Is it working?” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “The jury’s still out on that.” 

“Pete’s reaction is not the only issue here... Actually, it mostly is. Because Peter’s young and if it ever comes out that I’m in love with that spritely dork, then the last thing I want is for Peter to feel like he has to say something.” 

“I’m not following.”  

Tony bites his lip hard. “I don’t want the kid to feel pressured in any way, considering it’s me. Basically, his hero that he looks up to, and depends on for Spider-Man business. I don’t want him to feel like he has to repay me by saying yes.” 

“I have to say, Boss, those thousand-dollar gifts are not really working in your favour.” Tony groans, knocking his head gently on the top of the steering wheel. “Also, the money you spent doesn’t really show him what you feel. Peter isn’t like that. You of all people should know that.” 

Peter is one of the few people close to him who, although loves the thought behind the gifts, isn’t hesitant in showing the discomfort he has when reading the outrageous price tags. 

“I know.” Tony sighs, slumping back on soft headrest to relieve at least some of the tension in his neck. 

He knows he isn’t that wonderfully transparent like normal, functioning, goes-to-therapy people are. He shows his affection in obscene, grand gestures, rather than quiet, meaningful ones. He throws his money and time into buying or crafting something that comes from the heart. His long relationship with Pepper has brought out those intimate and soft sides in him, has shown him his preferred _‘love language'_ _(_ _god, Tony hates that)_  is giving and spending, rather than receiving or saying. 

Truth be told, even when Tony is showering Peter in his own brand of affection, he doesn’t expect a single thing back. Tony isn’t expecting the kid to go onto his knees and profess his love as if it were an 80’s John Hughes movie. Tony doesn’t even expect him to acknowledge his gifts as a declaration of endearment from the man _(Tony really does hope he doesn’t)_. 

“I think you’ve put too much thought into this whole thing, Friday,” Tony gently chides. Friday is fast to retort, “I’m spent less time on this than you have on deciding what headphones Peter should have.” 

Tony splutters. “May I remind you; it took three days for you to even have a select few. You aren’t even the one using it!” Her Scottish lilt is particularly strong now. Tony can’t help the twitch of his lips. At least he knows what can rattle the poor AI: his sad love life. 

“Listen, as fun as it is to have you worry over my interpersonal relationship with the Spiderling, I doubt it does any good for your circuit boards.” 

“Well, you’re right.” Friday sounds miffed. “Which is why I think you should just get this over and done with and tell Peter how you feel.” 

“Oh, _c’mon,_  Friday!” 

* * *

The date wasn’t... terrible. Not that Peter has gone on many, but he supposes that he could have had more fun with Eligio if they actually had _anything_ in common. The guy is sweet but he definitely isn’t Peter’s type.  

After the fifth awkward attempt of trying to find any similar interests, Peter eventually decided to just ask Eligio what are the interesting things to do in Italy. Surprisingly, for a local, Eligio knew a lot of activities for Peter to do, places to visit and food to eat.  

Apparently, it is a delicacy in Italy to eat cheese infested with maggots. Peter guesses he learns something new everyday. 

Eligio offered to get Peter back to his hotel, but he politely refused. Peter wanted some time to think alone and it seemed like a good way to explore the area on his own. They said their goodbyes, with Eligio giving one last compliment that made red bloom across Peter’s face, and split ways.

Considering the almost deserted streets, Peter decided to peruse the area with his handy-dandy web-shooters. When out of sight, hiding in a thin space between two buildings, Peter ties the pink strap of fabric around his waist—securing it so the jacket doesn’t get in his way—and leaps into the air, pulling himself to the rooftops. The roofs in this particular district didn’t have any doors or entrances, so it was highly unlikely for people to see Peter jump from building to building. 

The whipping air in his face is welcome change. Tony’s car is nice, and can get to speeds that make Peter’s hair a rat’s mess, but it just can’t compare to the speeds Peter gets to when he’s swinging; it can’t make the adrenaline rush through his veins, the threat of falling down any second making his heart tumble.

Swinging like a reckless pendulum is only one plus to his wonderfully rewarding job as Spider-Man. He’s just lucky to have Tony on his side—making extremely unnecessary safety measures and ridiculous web-combinations—to make sure he doesn’t face-plant more than once during his patrols. 

_Speaking of Tony..._

Peter feels a downward tug of his lips.  

Even after all this time; even after the piles and piles of gifts he finds himself under, Peter still doesn’t have a clear understanding of why Tony keeps showering him in overpriced things.  

Peter has an inkling of the reason: Tony feels responsible for him. With Peter being some sort of ward or mentee to the man. Peter knows _that._

But what doesn’t make sense, is why Tony has to buy Peter countless pieces of clothing that Peter would have never worn if it were on his own accord. _(He would now, because he finally knows what he looks good)_

To buy Legos and headphones for his enhanced sense? Those make sense; like a rich Uncle whose role in the family is to throw his money at his nephews and nieces during the holidays. Buying gaudy shoes, pink silk jackets and lavish watches? That stretches it a little bit. 

Peter does have to admit, it feels good to wear something that came from Tony _(Not that Peter doesn’t feel that when he wears the Spider suits. He still does)_ and to see the pleased expression on the older man’s face. 

As much as he spends time dwelling over the ‘why’s, Peter can’t lie about the fact he’s just happy to spend time with Tony. This whole trip is possibly the most time Peter has spent with the man in a long while— _or ever, really—_ and not only that, he has seen sides of Tony he never thought he would. 

Last night was a... doozy. That’s the only word he can come up with, without reaching the dramatic side of his vocabulary.  

He hasn’t seen Tony that openhearted ever, and it makes a part of Peter feel special. _(Even though he knows he shouldn’t. He’s sure he isn’t the first person that Tony has opened up to, that intimately.)_

Peter makes it back to the hotel, landing on the rooftop where the helicopter is, the one he and Tony rode that morning to get to Florence. It’s nearly sun-down, the sun only a nail crescent over the horizon. It brings a golden glow to the city, making it more breath-taking than it already is. 

The soles of Peter’s new sneaker scuff against the cement as he walks over to the edge of the building, absorbed in the beauty of Florence. He gets down, sitting on the warm floor as he kicks out his legs to swing them over the edge like a kid. The ground digs into Peter’s palms but he doesn’t seem to care, more interested in the glittering window sills and lit streets. The streetlamps emit a soft blush of yellow, the bulbs turning into gorgeous gleams when he squints. 

The blue outline of mountains in the distance brings an odd sense of calm over him. It makes Peter feel less lonely in this city. He is well-acquainted with how Queens and New York can make someone feel so alone, despite the large population. It’s refreshing to have such an open space just for Peter to roam. 

After some time, the sun has dipped low enough for the entire city to turn on their streetlights and for Peter to get back to his room. He gets up, dusting his red hands against his _very_ expensive branded jeans and ambles to the door that leads to the elevators. 

The change in scenery is a little abrupt; the upscale golden interior a gentle reminder that Tony is the reason why Peter’s away from the bustling city of Manhattan. Another thing that Tony brought into his life _(other than the whirlwind of emotions Peter gets when he sees the man)_ is the opportunity to experience the ‘extravagant’ lifestyle, that he would otherwise never get in his entire life if it were not for that YouTube video Tony used to entice him into fighting the fight.  

Seemed like the Parker luck was in his favour that time. 

He gets to his floor with a ‘ding’, and he wanders down the hallway to get to his room, passing Tony’s room with a sidelong glance. He taps his card, and the first thing he does is to kick off his shoes. As gaudy and expensive the sneakers are _(Peter can admit Tony has always had good style)_ , they can get quite uncomfortable. 

He hooks up his pink jacket and opens up his suitcase, the Spider-Man suit right on top of his stack of other clothes and gifts. He takes the red mask and presses a hidden button in the place where his ear would be. 

“Karen, can you ask Friday where Mr. Stark is?” Peter mutters, walking through his humongous room as he brings the suit’s mask close to his lips. Karen chirps, “Sure thing.” 

As Peter packs up the other bags of shirts, pants and ties Tony got for him, Karen pipes up in the silence, “Friday says Boss is in the jacuzzi. On the balcony of his room.” 

Peter stops, staring down at his mask. “His balcony has a jacuzzi? How expensive is this place?” 

“Your room has a jacuzzi too.” Peter lets out a low whistle, and snorts in mirth when Karen continues, “And I’m not allowed to disclose the cost of this hotel room to you, Peter.” 

“What’s he doing in an oversized tub anyway?” Peter is about to tuck in another set of jeans—or at least trying to in his already cramped suitcase—when he stops at Karen’s words.  

“Mr. Stark isn’t feeling well.” 

“Is Mr. Stark okay? Is he sick? Injured? Do I need to get medicine? Should I call someon—” 

“No, Peter. Take a deep breath.” His brows bunch up, but he heeds Karen’s advice anyway.  

“Okay,” Peter starts, feeling a little calmer, “how is Mr. Stark?” 

“Mr. Stark is a little upset right now. If you are going to approach him, I suggest you do so with tact.” 

Peter frowns even further, something furling tightly in his chest. “Is he okay?” 

“Oh, yes. But I don’t think he should be alone.” Peter walks to his bed, bouncing lightly as he stares at the eyeholes of the mask. He knows Karen can see him from the lens, so he doesn’t try to hide the light distress on his face. 

“Peter, may I give you advice?”  

“Hmm?” 

“Mr. Stark is feeling a little more than... down, right now. However, I do think that he’d do well with you cheering him up.” His brows rise. 

“Karen?” He wonders apprehensively. Her tone sounds... speculative. 

“I think Mr. Stark needs someone. Not just Friday to talk to.” 

“Right,” he says flatly. 

“Maybe this could be your chance, Peter.” The teenager squints and would have laughed at the sight of the lens squinting right back at him. 

“What chance?” 

“To woo Mr. Stark.” Peter blinks. _What?_

“What do you mean?” 

“You know, the plan that you, Ned and Michelle have been talking about.” Peter’s brows furrow even more, before his eyes go wide. 

“Did you hack my phone to listen in on our conversation?”

“Yes, I did.” Karen sounds unapologetic, even a little proud. “Just for emergencies and such. It just so happens your phone is close enough for me to pick up on your conversations.” 

Peter groans, falling back until he’s lying flat on the cool mattress.

“Is that wrong?” 

“Privacy, Karen, privacy! It’s a breach of the thing!” Peter chides, though there isn’t any bite to it. What would Karen do, anyway? The only way for Tony to find out what Peter is up to—specifically his conversations with his friends about Peter longing for the man—is to ask it specifically from Karen. Peter has lots of doubt that that would happen. 

“I am sorry, Peter.” For an AI, Karen sounds pretty damn apologetic. Peter sighs. 

“I still think you should go through with your plan.” Peter wants to roll his eyes, but the doubt is clouding over his annoyance. 

“Uh, you sure, Karen? I mean, I don’t think Mr. Stark would really like his much, much younger friend to jump him. Besides there’s a lot of evidence that says Mr. Stark doesn’t even _look_ at me that way.” 

“I don’t know about you, Peter, but I think Mr. Stark still would appreciate knowing about the way you feel for him. I don’t think Mr. Stark would push you away if you do confess.” There’s an ebb of sadness in his chest, flowing from the thought of Tony rejecting him and into his chest.

“What do you know, Karen? You’re just a robot.” There’s silence. And Peter can’t help but feel bad. 

“I’m sorry, Karen. That was mean.”

“It’s okay, Peter! I can’t feel anything anyway,” Karen’s voice is still as chirper, showing that, indeed, she is just a bunch of code that Tony put together.

“I still feel bad.” He frowns. 

“You know what will make _me_ feel better?” Karen asks. Peter chuckles. 

“What?” 

“If you go to Mr. Stark’s room and talk to him. You don’t have to tell him what you feel.” Peter stares at the ceiling for a few moments, wondering how did it get to this point in his life where an AI is manipulating him to get in his mentor/crush/friend’s room. 

“Okay, fine.” At the very least, Peter has stopped frowning. He gets to his feet and heads to the far end of the room, where sliding glass doors head out to his balcony. He inhales deeply, the cool air greeting his lungs when he steps out. Just as Karen said, there’s a gigantic jacuzzi just for his room. Peter shakes his head. Tony’s extravagance never ceases to amaze Peter. 

He turns to face where Tony’s room would be; lo and behold, the jacuzzi is turned on. A blue glow emitted by the lights under the water creates a silhouette of Tony sitting within the tub, the shadow somehow even looking tense to Peter. 

Peter goes to the wall and presses his two hands against the surface. Soon, he’s crawling on the wall, on the way to Tony’s balcony with the sneakiness of a spider. Once on Tony’s balcony, he gently puts himself down, careful to not startle Tony. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” 

 _"Holy_ _shi_ _—_ what the hell? Kid, don’t sneak up on me like that,” Tony scolds, the water still overflowing from when Tony spun in place in a panic. Peter grins sheepishly, hand coming up to rub his neck. “Sorry, Mr. Stark, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Tony squints at him, before waving a hand. “It’s fine, underoos.” Tony turns back to the front, his arms resting on the rim of the tub. Peter blinks, unsure if he’s supposed to move there or not. 

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at the back of my head?” Peter can hear the smirk in his voice. Peter shakes off the ghost of embarrassment and steels himself _(for what? Peter doesn’t exactly know.)_

He walks around the jacuzzi because he doubts Tony would appreciate a teenager coming way too close for comfort. He feels something heavy on the back of his head, his sense giving off a gentle tingle that isn’t entirely unpleasant. When he climbs the steps of the tub, opposite of Tony, the feeling goes away. 

He sits barefooted and cross-legged on the edge, not keen on getting his new jeans soaked. He first tries to meet Tony’s eyes, but they seem intently focused on one of the light bulbs under the water, his gaze foggy. Peter takes that time to trail his gaze lower, over Tony’s goatee, his collar bone and the span of his tanned but scarred chest, stopping at the mangled flesh in the middle. He still remembers the burn when he touched the scar with his own fingertips; quiet and intimate, affectionate but wavering. 

He glances up and meets Tony’s heavy gaze. Peter is trapped under those brown and incredibly intelligent eyes. It’s an echo of the other night—the silence, the big inquisitive eyes, the warmth in Peter’s chest that doesn’t go away no matter how much he wills it to. 

Peter looks away, his temples popping subtly. 

“So, care to tell me why you’re here?” Tony sounds a little amused. 

Peter shrugs, still feeling like a little kid because of that stare. 

“I guess I just wanted to hang out with you?” Peter offers, his gaze not staying on Tony as he tries to quell the discomfort under his skin, his eyes glancing all over the place. His statement is true and no less vulnerable. 

“That sounded more like a question,” Tony says, a smile tugging his lips. Though Tony’s comment is blunt, his eyes turn fond. “That’s sweet, kid.” 

_Kid. Again. Always._

The nickname can sometimes irk Peter in a way he should have expected. It's just a constant reminder that Tony will only and always look at him as if he were a kid. The realisation settles uncomfortably in his chest. 

There’s stillness in the air between the two of them, only filled by the already quiet jet streams from the jacuzzi. Peter feels more than a little awkward; he isn’t really sure why he’s here. 

_Oh right, Mr. Stark feels sad._

Peter glances back but keeps his gaze on the man a little longer. 

_He doesn’t seem sad. I mean, I know he’s good at hiding it, so..._

“How did your date go?” Peter perks up. 

“With Eligio?” At Tony’s expectant eyes and raised brow, as if saying _'Y_ _eah, who else?’_ “Oh, he’s not my type. He was nice, though. Showed me around the place.” 

The smile on Tony’s face flickers for a moment, though Peter doesn’t linger on the change in expression. Peter twiddles his thumbs, puffing a breath just to break the ice. 

“If that’s a secret code for ‘set me up with more guys’, I think you’re out of luck there, kid.” Peter whips up to look at Tony, squinting his eyes at the man. 

“It is _not_.” Peter pauses, and continues with a coy grin and a false interested tone. “But, is there anyone? You know, maybe the concierge or the receptionist I saw this morning?” 

That brings a laugh out of Tony, making Peter grin himself. At least he’s doing what Karen told him to. 

“I don’t think I cleared it up in our last conversation, but I was _not_ playing wingman,” Tony reassures, which Peter playfully scoffs at. 

“It’s not like you need any help anyway, kid. You’ve been hit on multiple times just in this trip.” Pink dusts on his Peter’s cheeks fairly quickly; the sight of it making Tony smirk wide. 

“I mean, I don’t think anyone would _actually—”_

“Like I said last night, don’t sell yourself short. Seriously, kid, there are more people who are missing out on you than you’re missing out on them.” 

That stuns Peter into silence. He barely blinks. It makes Tony subtly squirm under his hard gaze, but he still doesn’t break the eye contact. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says softly. Tony wipes off the discomposure on his face and replaces it with another sly smirk. 

“Can’t have my protege thinking he can’t pick up my ‘playboy’ brand.” 

Peter coughs loudly into his hand, a glint in his eye. “When was the last time that ‘brand’ of yours was actually used?” 

Tony pauses for a second, seeming to actually think of the answer, before he feebly throws out, “Hey, once a playboy, always a playboy.” 

“Sure, old man.” Tony rolls his eyes and reaches out to swat water in Peter’s direction. The splash causes fat droplets to land on Peter’s jeans. Peter gasps dramatically, mocking a shocked expression. 

“Aw, c’mon, Mr. Stark! These are new.” 

“Yes, I know. I bought them,” Tony quips dryly. 

“But you just ruined them!” 

“They’re just jeans. They’ll dry up.” 

“Oh, just like this fifty dollar shirt is just a shirt?” Peter picks up the front of his shirt with an exaggerated frown. An amused smirk is on Tony’s lips as he shrugs noncommittedly. 

“Okay, if you’re so lenient with your money-spending, _here_ —” Peter practically bounces into the water, creating a splash and wave big enough for Tony’s dry hair to go sopping wet. When Peter emerges from the water, a big grin on his face, he swats another bout of water into Tony’s direction, sending the man spluttering through his laughter. 

“That’s what you get when you mess with me, Mr. Stark.” Tony blows his nose, still chuckling as he swipes back the drenched strands of hair onto the top of his head. Peter tries to ignore how his heart tumbles at the gorgeous sight of his friend. 

Tony looks up, and in a tone between affectionate and stern, says, “If that’s what it takes to not care about the money, then I’m all for it, Pete.” 

Peter’s heart lurches at the sound of his nickname said with so much _affection._

He stops when he realised the odd turn of Tony’s voice—getting lower and slightly breathless until his nickname was only above a whisper. 

He peeks through his small curtain of curls over his eyes, hair dripping water into his eyes. He blinks and pushes the strands away. When he looks back at Tony, the expression on the man’s face is like a punch to his chest. Tony is staring at him, not at his eyes but rather lower. Peter looks down and realises what Tony is so fixated on. 

His shirt is drenched, sticking to Peter like it’s a second skin. The shirt is white, unfortunately showing the darker outline of Peter’s pebbled nipples; and it doesn’t help his abs shy away. The muscles underneath look like they are sculpted, more defined because of the shirt confining Peter’s body. The worst part is the trail of dark hair leading down, going under his belt buckle and pants; and it is a stark contrast to the white of the shirt. 

He feels the burning bloom of embarrassment spreading all the way from his neck to his ears. He quickly bends his knees to submerge himself again, moving to the side to sit; he makes sure he pointedly looks away from Tony. 

“Sorry, Mr. Stark. Guess I should’ve brought trunks after all.” 

He peeks up at Tony, who still looks perplexed but doesn’t seem upset or disgusted. 

“S’alright, kid.” Tony’s voice is low, borderline a gruff sound that does things to Peter’s body  _at the most, absolute wrong time._ Peter holds back a whimper. He isn’t sure if the sound came from the embarrassment or the arousal. Possibly, even both. 

This is a terrible time to get both emotional _and_ aroused. Peter usually reserves these moods in the confines of his room _(or the other day’s case, his hotel room)._ It’s heat, intertwined with the softness that ebbs in the middle of his chest whenever Tony does something _so utterly Tony._

Tony is rubbing his eyes, looking more tired and worn out than he did at the beginning of their conversation. 

“Sir?” 

“Yeah, Pete?” Tony mutters, leaning back. Peter licks his lips, the almost chemical taste on his tongue making him grimace, and tries to appear smaller than he is. He doesn’t fully know why he feels embarrassed; he knows Tony would not do or say anything about Peter to make him feel bad on purpose. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

“The clothes.” 

“Pete, you could throw all of the gifts in the ocean, even burn them for all I care.” Peter, once again, is stunned. He looks up at Tony, searching his eyes for answers he needs. 

“Then, why buy them for me?” 

“Because I l-like seeing you happy. It’s as simple as that.” 

His heart is beating so fast it _hurts._

Peter is... _Fuck._ Peter truly can’t understand how did he get lucky in having Tony as a friend. Tony is just _so, so good._ He’s kind, perceptive, generous, ingenious, brave, flawed in so many ways and so _fucking gorgeous._ He truly can’t get better than that. 

Peter has felt so many things for this man: hero-worship, admiration, respect, care and finally love. And every time, the feeling overwhelms him like no other. Maybe there was something for him from the very beginning, even back when his lips split so wide because Uncle Ben got him a simple Iron Man figure. 

“So, you really don’t care that I basically ruined this t-shirt?” 

“Couldn’t care less, kid. Honestly, I’m glad you ruined it. At least you don’t care so much about the price tag anymore.” Peter rolls his eyes, scoffing lightly. 

“Yeah, I don’t think that could ever happen. I’ll never get used to it.” 

Tony smiles lightly. “Is this a good time to remind you that what you have is a multimillion-dollar suit—” 

“Nope!” 

Tony laughs, a rich and carefree sound that tugs at Peter’s heartstrings in a way it never fails to. 

Peter and Tony share a smile over the water. 

The younger man glances away for a second, unable to handle the sudden surge of emotions gripping him. He looks out to the skyline. It’s dark but the nightlife makes up for the lack of stars, glittering with romantic gleams of gold.

Peter turns back to see Tony already looking at him. The smile on Peter’s youthful face stretches further as gratitude fills him from head to toe. “Still, thank you for everything you got me. This trip, the gifts. Couldn’t thank you enough for all of it.” 

Tony’s eyes glint with something that makes a shiver run up Peter’s spine, pinning him to the spot with his secret grin. It isn’t sharp or unkind, and something about it is sweet, almost tender. 

“Well, I didn’t do it for your thanks.” 

_Because I like seeing you happy._

It cracks something in Peter wide open, alive and beating. Something that is breathed to life because of Tony’s smile, Tony’s genuity; because of Tony. 

Peter’s grin flickers, his breaths getting a little heavier. 

Something in him thrums. Its presence is almost wild, but because of Tony, it’s calm and satiated. 

Tony’s eyes glaze over, the curve of his own mouth going flat. 

With Peter’s heart thudding hard in his ribs, he feels the innate need to be closer to the other man. It aches within him, only remedied once he feels Tony’s skin under his touch. Keeping his gaze locked—almost drowning in those big, brilliant brown eyes—he shifts closer, nearly slipping on the porcelain surface under the bubbling water. He stops when his thigh bumps into Tony’s.

Tony’s eyes are wide, lips slightly parted which makes Peter’s eyes immediately gravitate towards it.

Tony’s arms on the rim of the tub go under the surface. Peter almost jolts at the contact on his arm—firm but not tight, warm. 

Peter is utterly distracted by the pinkness in Tony’s warmed skin, in his lips; distracted by the scarred expanse of skin he’s seen once before; by the wide brown eyes, full of life and conflict, but still holding that affection whenever he looks at Peter. 

A lock of hair drops onto Peter’s forehead. Tony’s eyes flicker up and silently, he uses his other hand to swipe it back. His hand doesn’t drop; it instead rests at the crook of Peter’s shoulder and neck. The way Tony’s thumb rubs his flesh with such  _gentleness_ sends overwhelming shocks of electricity through his body. 

Tony’s eyes flicker darkly. He saw Peter’s reaction. 

Peter swallows hard, head swimming as he tries to think of more than one reason why he’s this close to Tony in the first place. But something heats up his body, hot like a flame: Tony’s eyes are hooked on the movement of his Adam’s apple. 

Peter can’t even speak, his ability to use his vocal cords somehow vanished. And as he watches how Tony’s half-lidded eyes seems to trail down from his forehead, following a trickle of water that rolls down the side of Peter’s nose, landing on the tip of his cupid’s bow, pupils blowing wide when Peter’s pink tongue peeks out to catch the droplet of water, Peter thinks that’s the reason for his speechlessness. 

The heat from the jacuzzi seems to get worse, making Peter feel lightheaded, but the soft brush of Tony’s thumb and the grip on his arm ground him, bringing him down to Earth. It still makes him feel floaty, like he’s watching through a fog. It’s absolutely euphoric. 

Something grows in him. Something urgent and _needy._ Peter can’t take the dancing anymore, he can’t take the thick silence and heavy stares, he can’t keep the buzz under his skin quiet, he can’t handle how the warmth of Tony’s calloused hands seeps into his bones, he can’t sit there and admire Tony without doing a thing to quell the waves of heat—of painful arousal—within him. 

He steels himself, a soft voice warning him, scolding him. But a bigger part of him shows flashes of Tony’s smiles and the buried heat in those big, bright eyes of his mentor whenever the man lays a hand on him—in the changing room, in his hotel room. 

And Peter can’t keep fooling himself anymore. 

He grips onto Tony’s forearm, the one holding his face, with a squeeze and pulls it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the hardened flesh, inching closer. The catch in Tony’s breath is absolutely tantalising. 

Under the water, Peter slides his arm out of Tony’s hold to guide the man’s hand to his hip. Tony doesn’t waste a second; he pulls Peter closer and over him, settling the teenager into his lap. 

Peter lets out a low hum, feeling the strain of Tony’s trunk through his own jeans. Tony is _everywhere._ His scent, his skin, his touch. It’s overwhelming for Peter. And based on Tony’s glossy, stunned look, he isn’t too far off either. 

So close, they’re practically breathing each other’s air. 

Tony takes one last look at Peter’s eyes, desperate and open and vulnerable and _needy_ and Peter isn’t sure who leans forward first because all of a sudden their lips are pressed together—soft and gentle and impossibly affectionate. The sensation is something Peter has never felt. 

Peter can feel Tony’s naked flesh against him even through the shirt, can feel the divot in his chest. He cards his fingers through soaked locks, pulling Tony closer as the man moves his lips against Peter’s as if it were a dance. Tony’s hold on him is so safe and so warm it sends Peter reeling. 

He can feel Tony’s mouth open, tongue licking the edge of Peter’s lips and he does the same and— _shit,_ Peter knows the taste of coffee and chocolate when it’s on his tongue. It all comes to a head, the heady stares, the light touches, the sweet compliments; it all gathers in Peter and rushes out in a flurry of strong desire in a form of a kiss. 

Peter can’t help the little moan he makes when he tries to shift. 

At the subtle cant of Peter’s hips, Tony lets out a low groan and it’s like a switch was _flipped_. Tony’s fingers dig into Peter’s hip, the muscle twitching under his touch. Peter is clawing at Tony, his hands tugging at his hair as he presses his fingers into Tony’s back with surprising force. Tony leans forward as if trying to kiss the teenager harder, pushing Peter backwards and further into his arms. 

It’s heavenly. And _holy shit,_ Tony wants him. 

He _wants_ him. 

Peter can’t ignore the way Tony holds him with the utmost care and fiery passion. They’re tangle of limbs in a frenzy, trying to feel all of each other in a short span of time, with Peter trying to climb Tony further and the older man trying to pull him until they’re completely flushed. 

Tony moans once more, but the sound gets stuck in his throat. 

Suddenly, Tony is frozen stiff. His lips stopped moving and his hands relax their hold on Peter. 

Tony leans back and Peter opens his eyes. 

A low sweeping sorrow hits Peter right in his stomach when he sees the look on Tony's face. The man is downright _distraught._

The spell is broken. 

Tony is frowning, the wideness and the horror of his eyes conveying to Peter the worst of his fears. He seemed to have blanched in the middle of his realisation, because the flush of his cheeks from the heat of the water is replaced by an ashy tone.

Peter surely must look like the dumb idiot in this situation, succumbing so easily to his hormones just like that. 

Tony looks like he’s about to speak after the everlasting silence, but a loud noise cuts him off. 

His phone is ringing.

It's shrill, deafening. Tony is still staring at him, eyes full of question, full of everything, including the light haze of want hiding beneath the depths of brown. 

The ringing still goes on. It rings four, five, six times, then— 

“I need to—” Tony starts. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Peter cuts in, scrambling off of Tony, somehow splashing himself in the eye with his shaky movement. 

Tony regards Peter for a moment, something glinting in his eyes. But it goes away when Tony stands up and turns, showing his back to Peter, which is littered with the dark pink imprints of Peter’s fingers. 

As Peter watches Tony climb out of the tub, something in Peter twists, the gravity of the situation hitting him. He just made out with his friend. His mentor. The thought of it leaves a foul taste in his mouth, very unlike the sweetness he tasted barely a minute ago. 

He sits in the tub, loneliness cloaking him like a hug, heaviness settling over his shoulders, darkness over him like a cloud. His hands are shaking and there’s nausea turning his stomach. 

_Fuck._

His eyes sting, tears springing up so fast. The change in his mood was so painfully abrupt; like at a snap of his fingers, everything did a one-eighty. If only he hadn’t made a move, if he hadn’t gone into the water in the first place, then none of this would have happened. 

“Kid? You okay?” He hastily wipes the tears, knowing it’d mix with the water anyway. The warmth in the tub isn’t enough to combat the coldness settling over his heart. 

“Yeah, just got some dirty water in my eyes.” He hopes it’s enough to convince Tony why his eyes are pink. 

For one heart-stopping moment, the expression on Tony changes to utter heartbreak, pain and anguish written as clear as day, but it’s gone so fast it leaves Peter wondering if he even saw it. 

“I think you should get back to your room.” 

Shame drowns out the hurt in his chest, and Peter nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

Just as Peter is about to stand up, however, Tony steps closer and leans over the edge of the tub. 

For a second, Peter had hoped... 

“But I think you need to take a look at this first.” Tony still has his phone in his hand, screen now open to an article. An article that makes Peter’s eyes widen, first with shock then righteous anger. 

 

 _‘The Rogue Avengers Are Returning Home.’_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUAHAAHAAHAHAAHAHHAAHAHHA  
> I'm not sorry.  
> Hope you all enjoyed that!  
> Tell me what you think cause I'm always dying to hear your responses <3  
> Love you all, thanks for reading!


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